inniiiifnnnnnninMHniininiiinnni 

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HX00013382 


A  Neurasthene 


MardaretA.Cleav 


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miht(£imtMt\»foxk 


ISitUvmtt  Sltbrara 


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The  autobiography 
of  a   neurasthene 

AS  TOLD  BY  ONE  OF  THEM 
AND  RECORDED  BY 

MARGARET  A.  CLEAVES,  M.  D. 


BOSTON 

RICHARD    G.  BADGER 

THE  GORHAM   PRESS 
I9IO 


Copyright  1909  by  Richard  G.  Badger. 


All  Rights  Reserved 


^^y^.-£>^ 


V7    -3Sl^ 


C5B 


THB  GORHAM  PRESS,    BOSTON,  U.  S.  A. 


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Dedicated 

To  Another 

Physician,  Friend  and  Counseller 


INTRODUCTION 

THIS  is  the  biography  of  a  physician.  The 
actual  conditions  are  recorded.  It  does 
not  matter  whether  it  was  really  a 
man  or  a  woman.  The  complete  ex- 
haustion of  supreme  nerve  centres  as  in 
this  case  rarely  befalls  a  woman.  So  far  as  the  ful- 
fillment of  professional  duties,  the  achievement  of  a 
definite  purpose  with  this  tremendous  handicap  is 
concerned,  it  was  done.  The  physician  whose  story  is 
told,  and  also  the  physician  in  attendance  both  knew 
from  their  own  experience  the  worst  of  this  condition 
without  a  pathology,  but  which  evidences  a  definite 
pathological  physiology.  Never  for  one  moment 
did  either  the  one  or  the  other  abate  their  interest  in 
their  professional  work,  nor  their  manifold  duties  in 
relation  to  life.  The  physician  in  attendance  did  not 
know  from  his  own  experience  the  anguish  of  pain, 
inability  and  all  it  meant  to  keep  up  courage  and 
activity  until  after  fully  eight  years  of  attendance 
upon  the  patient  whose  biography  is  recorded.  There 
had  been  premonitions  as  early  as  at  the  time  of  his 
patient's  complete  break.  While  he  never  coddled 
himself  and  while  he  has  always  been  the  quiet,  calm, 

5 


INTRODUCTION 

self-poised  and  kindhearted  physician,  he  has  had 
since  his  own  experience  a  better  appreciation  of  the 
condition  of  his  patient,  and  while  there  is  neither 
fretting  nor  moaning  on  the  part  of  the  one  or  the 
other,  there  is  a  stronger  bond  of  mutual  confidence 
and  understanding  between  them  than  before. 

The  patient  felt  at  times  that  her  condition  was  not 
fully  appreciated  by  him,  but  after  all  his  optimistic 
view,  his  constant  effort  to  encourage  the  use,  not  the 
waste  of  such  energy  as  was  possessed,  was  infinitely 
better  than  the  opinion  given  him  by  an  eminent 
neurologist,  to  whom  he  confided  the  story  of  his 
muscular  contractions,  similar  in  nature  to  those  of  a 
progressive  spinal  cord  lesion,  of  the  intense  neuritis, 
the  loss  of  power  to  the  same  extent  as  with  the 
patient  whose  story  is  told,  so  that  objects  would  fall 
from  his  hands.  The  patient  had  been  through  the 
same  experience.  It  was  with  the  greatest  difficulty 
at  one  time  in  the  experience  of  both  to  even  use  knife 
and  fork  at  the  table,  while  the  routine  carving  was 
an  impossibility.  It  was  difficult  for  him  to  get  about 
to  make  his  professional  calls  because  of  the  weak- 
ness of  the  leg  muscles,  while  at  night  the  cramping 
was  of  such  a  nature  as  to  bring  him  out  of  bed  with  a 
bound.  The  throat  muscles  and  all  those  essential 
to  mastication  and  deglutition  in  both  cases  grew  very 
weak  as  well.     There  were  uncomfortable  dreams, 

6 


INTRODUCTION 

terrors  and  profound  depression.  The  specialist  whom 
he  consulted  told  him  that  he  had  seen  three  similar 
cases,  but  that  they  all  died.  The  physician  patient, 
as  did  I,  told  him  he  had  neurasthenia.  He  is  not 
only  not  dead,  but  feels  so  well  as  to  say  he  could  not 
live  if  he  felt  better.  I,  who  record  this  history,  know 
the  condition  of  both  intimately  and  as  a  physician  my 
professional  experience  has  been  largely  with  nerve 
and  mental  conditions. 

This  story  is  written  with  the  definite  purpose  of 
removing,  if  possible,  the  sting  and  opprobrium 
which  the  essential  neurasthene  bears  because  of  the 
long  continued  pose  of  the  neurasthene  who  does  not 
exhaust  neuronic  energy,  but  poisons  it  by  his  way 
of  living.  The  one  is  just  as  unphysiological  as  the 
other,  but  it  not  infrequently  happens,  as  in  these  two 
instances,  that  the  stress  and  strain  of  meeting  life's 
obligations  is  too  much  even  though  life  is  lived  care- 
fully and  without  dissipations  of  any  sort.  A  sympto- 
matic neurasthene  who  has  been  under  my  profes- 
sional observation  for  the  past  seven  or  eight  years, 
was  told  many  years  since  by  a  practitioner  that  she 
had  an  arthritis,  that  she  never  would  be  well  and 
that  she  could  eat  as  she  pleased,  it  would  make  no 
difference.  She  has  set  herself  resolutely  to  the  carry- 
ing out  of  his  prognosis  and  following  his  advice  in 
the  matter  of  eating — she  weighs  tsvo  hundred  and 


INTRODUCTION 

sixty-five  pounds — is  never  well.  The  term  arthritis 
is  rolled  under  her  tongue  as  a  delicious  morsel.  She 
has  absolutely  nothing  of  the  sort,  but  unless  physio- 
logical stimuli  are  pretty  constantly  used  to  keep  up 
good  tissue  change,  she  gets  by  reason  of  her  toxin- 
laden  blood  sore  nerves  and  muscles.  Her  mental 
activities  are  all  centred  upon  herself.  If  she  had  to 
work  as  hard  as  either  one  or  the  other  of  these  phy- 
sicians, she  would  be  a  well  woman  to-day,  as  she  has 
never  had  any  great  stress  or  strain  in  her  life.  I 
have  always  had  great  sympathy  with  the  husband 
who  has  told  her  many  a  time  that  she  would  be  well, 
if  she  had  to  wash  for  a  living — and  so  she  would. 
That  is  a  different  condition  from  the  one  recorded 
or  from  that  of  the  attendant  physician. 

Both  of  these  were  born  potential  neurasthenes, 
both  have  worked  hard  all  their  lives  in  their  chosen 
profession,  both  have  achieved  success  and  both  have 
been  tremendously  handicapped.  Neither  of  them 
has  lost  their  courage,  their  professional  acumen, 
their  humanitarian  instincts,  their  enjoyment  of  life  in 
its  highest  and  best  sense  and  they  face  their  work 
to-day  with  the  same  indomitable  will  as  heretofore, 
with  the  same  cheerful  optimism  and  the  same  sense 
of  humor. 

Their  professional  brethren  are  often  in  evidence 
at  medical  meetings  when  they  are  not.  But  this  does 
not  mean  that  they  fail  in  keeping  abreast,  even  in  the 

8 


INTRODUCTION 

advance  guard  of  the  science  of  medicine.  They 
never  fall  the  needs  of  those  who  come  under  their 
care  In  their  single-hearted  devotion,  but  they  are 
constantly  face  to  face  with  life's  most  Interesting 
problem,  the  conservation  of  energy.  I,  who  chron- 
icle these  things,  know  this. 

If  this  book  teaches  a  better  understanding  of  this 
condition  from  the  patient's  point  of  view  to  the  end 
of  a  more  intelligent  and  appreciative  care  of  this 
class  of  cases,  a  less  frequent  sending  of  them  from 
one  specialist  to  another  for  this  or  that  operation  to 
the  end  of  Inviting  still  greater  disaster,  it  will  have 
served  its  purpose. 

The  patient  whose  story  is  told  has  not  escaped 
suggestions  as  to  the  change  of  her  architecture,  in  an 
operation  upon  the  extrinsic  muscles  of  the  eye  by  her 
oculist,  but  she  has  always  laughingly  told  him  that 
her  regard  for  the  integrity  of  her  anatomical  struc- 
tures was  such  that  it  could  not  be  considered  for  one 
moment. 

The  pathological  physiology  of  the  neurasthene 
may  be  in  some  instances  for  aught  that  is  known  the 
forerunner  of  an  actual  anatomical  lesion,  the  quiv- 
ering or  fibrillary  contraction  of  exhausted  or  toxic 
muscles,  may  be  the  forerunner  of  a  progressive  mus- 
cular atrophy.  On  the  other  hand  it  may  not.  Give 
the  patient  the  optimistic  view.  Hope  is  the  inspira- 
tion of  life.     Without  it  we  are  rudderless.     I,  the 


INTRODUCTION 

chronicler,  know  this  all  so  well.  Even  this  morning 
I  write,  I  arose  without  a  ray  of  hope  or  light  in  my 
day.  This  was  because  I  was  too  tired  on  the 
yesterday.  I  did  not  give  up  or  lie  by,  but  went  to 
work  to  complete  this  story  and  have  simply  put  out  of 
mind  the  depression,  ennui,  sense  of  bodily  and  mental 
fatigue,  and  taken  on  by  supreme  effort  a  content  of 
mind  that  will  go  far  towards  recovering  my  best 
poise.  This  too  upon  the  morning  when  I  was  to 
have  gone  to  a  nearby  city,  as  the  guest  this  evening  of 
an  organization  of  medical  men  for  their  annual  meet- 
ing and  banquet  as  well  as  for  the  usual  after  dinner 
speech  which  I  had  anticipated  because  of  the  spirit 
of  camaraderie  with  many  of  its  members,  but  which 
I  had  to  give  up,  because  the  conservation  of  neuronic 
energy  was  absolutely  essential  to  the  proper  per- 
formance of  my  professional  duties  and  the  meeting 
of  life's  obligations. 

No !  It  is  not  easy  to  always  do  this,  but  while  in 
the  profession,  there  is  no  other  course. 

A  much  more  careful  and  less  exacting  life  is  pleas- 
urably  anticipated  in  the  not  distant  future,  but  I  do 
not  know  whether  it  will  bring  the  same  content  of 
mind,  the  same  sense  of  satisfaction  as  is  experienced 
in  meeting  the  demands  of  a  professional  life.  It  is 
however  the  hope  of  the  trio.  All  are  tired — tired 
oftentimes  with  a  fatigue  so  overpowering  as  to 
smother  and  crush  all  the  joy  of  living. 

xo 


CONTENTS 

Chapter.  Page. 

I — ''To  withdraw  Something  from  Thyself  to 
give  to  Others — that  is  a  Point  of  Human- 
ity and  Gentleness,  luhich  never  Taketh 
away  so  ?nuch  Commodity  as  it  Bringeth 
again."  Sir  T.  More,  Utopia       15 

U—'^The  Childhood  shows  the  Man 
As  Morning  shows  the  Day.'' 

Milton,  Paradise  Regained       23 

III — ''On  the  dark  stair  where  a  bear  is 

So   liable   to   follow   one.''  33 

IV — "It's  the  dieting  and  rubbing  the  race  horse 
that  makes  him  thin  as  a  flash,  that  he  may 
be  as  swift  too." 

W .  M.  Baker,  Neiv  Timothy 

"Spare  fast,  that  oft  with  gods  doth  diet." 

Milton,  II  Penseroso       43 

V — ''The  trouble  with  you,  doctor,  is  thai  you 

have  sprained  your  brain."  5^ 


II 


CONTENTS 
Chapter.  Page. 

VI — "To    his   capable   Ears   Silence   was   Music 
from  the  Holy  Spheres." 

Keats  J  Endymion 

"Nature  compensates  those  whose  world  is 
restricted  with  an  ability  for  Concentra- 
tion and  Intensity  of  Effort  of  which  the 
average  Person  is  ignorant."  69 

VII — The  Garden  of  an  Inn  at  Fontainebleu  95 

VIII — "In  States  of  extreme  Brain  Fag  the  Horizon 
is  narrowed  almost  to  the  Passing 
Thought."  Mind 

"And  of  their  wonted  Vigor  left  them 
Drain  dj  Exhausted,  Spiritless,  Afflicted, 
Fallen."  Milton,  Paradise  Lost 

"Great  Exhaustion  can  not  be  cured  with 
sudden  Remedies  no  more  in  a  Kingdom 
than  in  a  natural  Body." 

Sir  H.   Wotton,  Reliquae     105 

IX— "A  Mother  is  a  Mother  still. 
The  Holiest  Thing  alive." 

Coleridge,  The  Three  Graves. 

"Mothers  should  never  die."  124 

X — "It  does  not  matter  so  long  as  you  do  not  hate 

the  other"  133 

12 


CONTENTS 

Chapter.  Page. 

XI — "You  shall  find  them  Wise  on  the  one  Side, 
and  Fools  on  the  Other." 

Burton,  Anatomy  of  Melancholy 

"Think  with  the  other  Side.'^  148 

XII — "Type  of  the  Wise  who  Soar  but  never  Roam, 

True  to  the  kindest  Points  of  Heaven  and 

Home."  Wordsworth:  To  a  Skylark 

"And  to  me 

High  Mountains  are  a  Feeling,  but  the  Hum 

Of  Human    Cities   Torture." 

Byron:  Childe  Harold 

"Never  mind  you  can  obtain  your  Revenge 
by  writing  the  Autobiography  of  a  Neu- 
rasthene.^'  159 

XIII — "As  the  unthought  accident  is  guilty 

Of  what  we  wildly  do,  so  we  profess 
Ourselves  to  be  the  slaves  of  chance,  and  flies 
Every  wind  that  blows." 

Shakespeare:  Winter  s  Tale     167 

XIV — "Take  thy  lute,  wench:  m.y  soul  grows  sad 
with   troubles." 
"Sing  and  disperse  them,  if  thou  canst."  *  * 
"     *     *     *     In    sweet   music   is   such   art: 
"Killing  care  and  grief  of  heart. 
"Fall  asleep,  or,  hearing,  die." 

Shakespeare,  Henry  VIII     180 
13 


CONTENTS 

Chapter.  Page. 

XV — ''Psychic  Susceptibility  and  Psychic  Control 
or  The  Wireless  Trans?nission  of  Thought 
or  Brain  Waves  by  the  'Carriers  of  the 
Air.' "  203 


XVI — "O  ?ny  Dear  Father j  such  a  Change  is  Nature, 
"So  great  an  Alteration  in  a  Prince! 
"He  is  Bereft  of  all  the  Wealth  he  had; 
"The  Jewel  that  Adorned  his  Features  most 
"Is  filch'd  and  stolen  away — his  Wits  bereft 

him."  Hamlet     214 

XVII — "The  Allegory  has  another  View." 

Bacon,  The  Physical  Fables 

The  Point  of  View  or  "It  will  do  you  Good"     223 

XVIII — "Human  Experience  like  the  Stern  Lights 
Of  a  Ship  at  Sea,  Illumines  only 
The  Path  which  we  have  Passed  Over." 

Coleridge     232 


14 


The  Autobiography  of  a 
Neurasthene 

•     CHAPTER  ONE 

''To  withdraw  Something  from  Thyself  to  give  to 
Others — that  is  a  Point  of  Humanity  and  Gentleness, 
which  never  Taketh  away  so  much  Commodity  as  it 
Bringeth  againJ' 

Sir  Thomas  More 

IT  was  Helncich  Heine  who  devoted  the  people 
who  passed  under  his  observation  in  the  course 
of  his  travels,  to  his  desires  and  needs.  For 
example  a  particularly  billowy,  cushiony, 
plump,  well  lined  millionaire  suggested  to  his 
mind  the  luxury  of  a  roomy,  well  upholstered  and  well 
appointed  arm-chair,  known  to  the  French  as  a  chaise 
percee,  and  he  at  once  proposed  to  himself  that  the 
proceeds  from  his  ready  pen  in  treating  this  subject 
should  be  devoted  to  the  purchase  of  just  such  a  lux- 
urious chair. 

Similarly  I  propose  that  the  sufferings  I  have  en- 
dured both  from  the  fact  that  I  am  a  neurasthene  as 
wxll  as  the  suffering  I  have  endured  from  the  oppro- 
brium which  applies  to  even  the  true  neurasthene,  be- 
cause of  the  frequent  counterfeiting  of  the  condition, 
should  serve  in  retrospect  as  a  mental  divertisement. 
It  is  further  hoped  that  their  expression  in  this  way 

15 


AUTOBIOGRAPHY  OF  A  NEURASTHENE 

will  lead  to  a  better  appreciation  of  the  condition  and 
needs  of  the  unfortunate  neurasthene  of  the  essential 
type. 

In  these  ways  I  expect  my  return  for  the  days, 
weeks,  months,  years  even  of  pain  and  much  disabil- 
ity, while  It  Is  possible  that  I  may  with  Heine  devote 
any  pecuniary  emolument  accruing  from  my  relation 
to  the  publishers  as  a  means  of  providing  some  es- 
pecial luxury  of  comfort,  which  appeals  to  me.  I 
fancy  that  the  nearest  things  to  my  heart  are  radiance, 
air,  space,  quiet,  books,  music  and  congenial  friends. 
These  can  all  be  bought  save  the  friends,  and  they 
are  always  mine. 

The  condition  was  not  Invited,  but  came  as  the 
result  of  an  unstable  nerve  organization,  my  birth- 
right, for  after  all  animals,  other  than  the  human 
ones,  have  the  best  chance.  This  and  my  duty 
towards  the  obligations  of  life  which  had  to  be  met 
alone  and  unaided,  proved  too  much  for  my  limited 
endowment  of  strength.  No  one  ever  worked  harder 
and  suffered  greater  hardships  of  certain  kinds,  nor 
in  the  judgment  of  others  accomplished  more  under 
the  severest  of  handicaps,  than  have  I.  Although  my 
life  has  been  filled  with  pain  and  suffering,  yet  despite 
my  physical  condition  it  is  said  I  have  done  more 
than  my  share  of  the  world's  work,  to  have  made  for 

i6 


AUTOBIOGRAPHY  OF  A  NEURASTHENE 

myself  a  name  and  fame  as  well  as  to  have  added  to 
the  sum  total  of  human  good. 

But  that  is  neither  here  nor  there,  for  it  is  a  recog- 
nized fact  that  the  work  of  the  world  is  largely  done 
by  neurasthenes.  An  eminent  neurologist  has  written 
of  the  passing  of  neurasthenia.  Neurasthenia  is  not 
passing.  It  is  the  age  of  neurasthenia.  The  strenu- 
ous high  pressure  life  of  the  day  favors  its  develop- 
ment. The  fashionable  sufferer  or  the  Beautiful  N. 
E.  of  Augustus  Hoppin,  upon  whom  the  physician 
like  the  housefly  is  in  chronic  attendance,  is  not  so 
much  in  evidence  now  as  when  Hoppin  wrote  his 
satire  on  the  Nerve  Exhausionist.  The  entire  trend 
of  modern  life  is  in  favor  of  out-door  sports  and  ath- 
letic exercises  which  are  inimical  to  the  development 
and  perpetuation  of  the  neurasthenic  condition.  It  is 
no  longer  fashionable  to  lie  in  the  cloistered  seclusion 
of  luxurious  surroundings  with  all  the  paraphernalia 
of  interesting  invalidism  about  one.  On  the  contrary, 
life  In  the  open  is  the  mode  and  flying  over  the  coun- 
try in  motor  cars,  riding  across  country,  perhaps  fol- 
lowing the  hounds  In  the  pursuit  of  luckless  Reynard, 
playing  at  tennis  and  golf,  boating,  swimming  do  not 
contribute  to  the  neurasthenic  state  formerly  so  ultra- 
fashionable.  The  radiant  energy  of  the  sun,  the  fresh 
air,  the  rapid  motion  and  the  varied  interests  are  all 
against  the  existence  of  the  neurasthenic  condition. 

17 


AUTOBIOGRAPHY  OF  A  NEURASTHENE 

True  neurasthenes  are  born  initially,  not  made. 
The  conditions  of  life  may  favor  the  development  of 
the  condition,  but  there  is  inherent  at  birth  a  funda- 
mental nutritive  lack  of  the  nerve  centres  which  pre- 
disposes under  favorable  environment  to  its  develop- 
ment. Neurasthenia  not  only  has  been,  but  still  is  a 
much  abused  term,  and  hosts  of  men  and  women, 
especially  the  latter,  cloak  themselves  in  the  panoply 
of  the  neurasthene,  bringing  the  true  suiterer  thereby 
into  disrepute.  It  is  a  condition  too  little  understood 
and  appreciated  by  the  average  physician. 

The  suffering  of  the  essential  neurasthene  is  not 
imaginary  by  any  means.  It  is  as  real  as  the  pain 
from  a  fractured  bone.  But  because  of  the  absence 
of  anatomic  lesions  or  a  pathological  anatomy,  the 
pathological  physiology  is  ignored  in  an  estimate  of 
the  physical  suffering  and  mental  torment  endured 
and  its  genuineness  questioned.  But  it  is  the  most 
real  of  all  suffering.  The  pain  of  an  ulcerated  tooth, 
of  a  ruptured  ankle-ligament,  of  fractured  ribs  slips 
from  the  memory,  but  the  anguish  of  the  neurasthenic 
state,  w^hile  it  becomes  dulled  with  the  passage  of 
time,  never  totally  disappears.  The  least  little  over- 
fatigue, shock,  anxiet>^  strain  of  any  sort,  the  things 
that  cannot  be  avoided  in  life,  precipitates  a  crisis 
and  the  anguish  is  reawakened  in  the  memories  of  the 
cerebral  cells.     It  is  because  the  nerve  cell  with  its 

i8 


AUTOBIOGRAPHY  OF  A  NEURASTHENE 

branches  is  a  unified  organism,  a  self-contained  living 
being  physiologically,  the  sole  active  principle  in 
every  vital  function,  that  the  anguish  of  the  neuras- 
thene  is  never  quite  forgotten  and  is  so  easily  reawak- 
ened. It  could  not  be  otherwise,  for  it  must  be  re- 
membered that  the  neurons  are  the  medium  of  sensa- 
tion will  and  even  thought — the  highest  of  psychic 
functions.  Once  they  have  passed  through  the  travail 
and  anguish  associated  with  complete  exhaustion  of 
their  stored  up  energy  and  temporary  inability  to 
function  as  generators  of  energy  or  have  been  poison- 
ed by  the  products  of  incomplete  chemical  change, 
painful  impressions  are  easily  reawakened. 

This  is  well  illustrated  by  the  mental  state  of  the 
chronic  neurasthene  the  following  morning  which  is 
not  apt  to  be  a  happy  one,  in  fact  I  have  often  felt 
that  it  was  not  in  any  sense  better  than  that  of  those 
who  linger  long  over  their  cups.  The  utter  lassitude 
of  body,  the  weariness  of  mind,  the  painful  cerebra- 
tion, the  feeling  as  though  one  had  committed  some 
direful  deed  over  night,  the  sense  of  physiologic  sin, 
the  loss  of  self-confidence,  the  depression,  the  accentu- 
ation of  every  nerve  pain  from  which  one  ever  suffer- 
ed, in  fact  the  utter  discord  and  lack  of  harmony  be- 
tween the  mind  and  body,  between  oneself  and  the 
external  world  is  well  nigh  maddening  the  day  after. 
All  this  is  wrong  and  should  not  be.     The  only  op- 

19 


AUTOBIOGRAPHY  OF  A  NEURASTHENE 

portunity  for  better  conditions  than  these  Is  to  be 
found  In  a  strict  observance  of  the  neurasthene's 
golden  rule,  never  to  go  beyond  the  point  of  fatigue. 
Not  only  Is  this  necessary,  but  also  long  golden  care 
free  days  with  congenial  friends  and  in  an  environ- 
ment, inviting  content  and  happiness.  These  things 
are  difficult  to  encompass  always,  but  constant  effort 
should  be  made  in  their  direction.  My  experience  has 
been  both  extensive  and  bitter,  but  it  has  taught  me  a 
lesson  that  never  would  have  been  learned  in  any 
other  way,  and  for  that  matter  would  not  have  needed 
the  learning  in  the  sense  that  it  has,  had  I  not  broken 
so  badly  under  the  stress  and  strain  of  life,  and  that 
lesson  is  one  of  the  most  beautiful  in  nature,  the  con- 
servation of  energy.  Whatever  our  handicaps  are, 
we  can  overcome  them  always  to  lesser  or  greater  de- 
gree by  conservation  of  our  forces,  to  the  end  that 
life's  need  and  obligations  be  met  whether  we  take  of 
life  Its  bountiful  largesse  or  not.  Deprivation  does 
not  necessarily  stunt  nor  mean  starvation.  Joy  and 
beauty  are  everywhere.  If  we  only  learn  to  perceive 
them  and  the  degree  of  health  which  one  learns  to 
maintain  is  rich  with  possibilities  In  the  way  of 
achievement  and  best  of  all  content  and  happiness. 

I  know  these  things  as  few  people  know  them,  and 
while  I  have  suffered  much,  been  deprived  of  much 
and  disappointed  of  achieving  much  for  which  I  have 

20 


AUTOBIOGRAPHY  OF  A  NEURASTHENE 

had  the  desire,  ambition,  thirst  and  talent  by  reason 
of  my  handicap  I  have  had  in  many  ways  a  life  filled 
to  the  brim.  If  I  may  trust  the  onlooker,  1  should  not 
desire  one  thing  more  than  has  been  mine.  That  I 
do,  however,  is  only  human  nature.  The  observer 
only  reads  that  which  spells  success  and  knows  naught 
of  the  long  weary  hours  of  pain  and  disability  with- 
out achievement  of  any  sort.  In  all  these  varied  ex- 
periences of  mine  all  the  untoward  occurrences  chron- 
icled, my  course  of  conduct  did  not  invite  them  only 
in  so  far  as  my  course  of  conduct  w^as  governed  by 
the  inexorable  law  of  need  must.  In  my  professional 
relation  to  my  patients,  there  is  no  undue  coddling. 
On  the  contrary  the  most  bracing  and  tonic  regime 
which  can  be  made  to  appeal  to  the  best  in  the  pa- 
tient's nature  is  used.  Exception  is  aWays  made, 
how^ever,  when  it  is  a  question  of  exhaustion  as  was 
mine.  I  had  to  work,  but  no  patient  In  the  condition 
in  which  I  found  myself  should  take  strenuous  exer- 
cise. In  attempting  it,  I  Interfered  with  my  best 
good,  expending  energy  unduly,  not  conserving  it.  It 
is  true  that  by  reason  of  their  Inheritance  and  environ- 
ment there  is  a  large  class  of  people,  for  whom  but 
little  physical  exercise  is  necessary  to  keep  them  in 
good  condition.  By  environment  Is  meant  fresh  air, 
suitable  temperatures,  proper  food,  clothing,  bathing, 
dwellings  and  all  the  various  hygienic  conditions  and 

21 


AUTOBIOGRAPHY  OF  A  NEURASTHENE 

surroundings  that  tend  to  promote  health.  When 
one  of  such  an  intense  temperament  as  mine  and  as 
constant  intellectual  activity  is  so  environed,  the  equiv- 
alent for  a  certain  amount  of  bodily  exercise  is  pro- 
vided. Persons  so  situated  may  often  find  in  the 
pursuits  into  which  they  enter  earnestly  and  enthusias- 
tically, a  physical  equivalent  for  a  certain  amount  of 
bodily  exercise.  Again  there  is  often  experienced  by 
those  who  take  large  views  of  life  and  fully  realize 
the  dignity  and  importance  of  their  mission,  a  physical 
equivalent  for  exercise  in  their  mental  work.  This 
has  always  been  true  of  me  and  there  has  always  been 
a  tremendous  expenditure  of  energy  in  meeting  the 
requirements  of  professional  work.  Still  further  con- 
stituted as  I  am,  when  I  read,  write,  speak  or  think, 
I  do  it  all  over  and  feel  the  effects  of  it  in  every  fibre 
of  my  being.  But  fortunately  or  unfortunately,  ac- 
cording to  the  viewpoint,  most  people  are  not  so 
highly  organized  and  have  to  resort  to  other  methods 
to  secure  good  physical  results. 


22 


CHAPTER  TWO 

^^The  Childhood  shows  the  Man, 
As  Morning  shows  the  Day." 

Milton,  Paradise  Regained. 

BORN  a  neurasthene.  Yes,  but  oh  the  de- 
light of  my  childhood.  I  wonder  was  it 
as  beautiful  to  me  at  the  time  as  in  the 
retrospect.  The  memory  of  it  has  com- 
pensated for  many  weary  hours  of  suf- 
fering and  sense  of  uselessness  in  later  life.  My  phy- 
sician father  left  his  New^  England  home  as  a  young 
man,  because  the  raw  bleak  cold  of  the  northern  At- 
lantic coast  made  it  impossible  with  his  susceptible 
lung  tissue  and  recurring  pulmonary  hemorrhages  to 
live  there.  It  was  during  the  pioneer  days  of  the 
Middle  West  when  the  tide  of  emigration  set  from 
New  England  and  the  Southeastern  states,  Virginia 
among  them,  to  the  fertile  and  alluring  prairies  of 
first  Ohio,  then  Indiana,  Illinois  and  the  then  terri- 
tory of  Wisconsin. , 

On  horseback  my  father  wended  his  way  tarrying 
a  time  in  Ohio  and  subsequently  in  Indiana.     In  both 

23 


AUTOBIOGRAPHY  OF  A  NEURASTHENE 

of  these  states  he  entered  the  offices  of  experienced 
preceptors,  with  whom  in  lieu  of  a  medical  college  he 
studied.  His  thorough  fundamental  education  in  ad- 
dition to  the  power  of  a  well  poised  mind,  abundant 
common  sense  and  sound  judgment  beyond  his  years 
helped  him  to  become  one  of  the  most  judicious  of 
medical  advisers,  one  who  rarely  made  mistakes  and 
who  in  a  long  and  large  country  practice  endeared 
himself  to  all  the  people  for  whom  he  cared  and  with 
whom  he  came  in  contact.  He  was  in  every  sense  the 
beloved  physician,  and  of  him  and  his  influence  I 
shall  often  care  to  speak.  From  Indiana,  with  his 
spurs  newly  won,  he  travelled  to  the  garden  spot  of 
this  territory  and  took  up  his  residence  in  a  country 
to  which  nature  had  been  generous  with  prodigality. 
There  he  met  my  mother,  the  eldest  daughter  of  a 
large  family  who  had  but  recently  arrived  from  Vir- 
ginia. Her  father,  my  grandfather,  a  sturdy  Scot  of 
the  Clan  of  Cameron,  had  left  Edinburgh  to  seek  his 
fortunes  in  the  New  World.  Entering  by  way  of 
Canada,  he  drifted  to  Virginia  where  he  met  my 
grandmother  of  good  old  North  of  Ireland  stock  and 
gentle  birth.  The  then  far  west  allured  him  and  of- 
fered to  him  opportunities  for  his  rapidly  growing 
family  not  afforded  in  Virginia.  Thus  my  father  met 
my  mother,  married  her  and  made  a  home. 

The  first  three  years  of  his  sojourn  in  what  was 

24 


AUTOBIOGRAPHY  OF  A  NEURASTHENE 

then  the  far  West  he  practiced  his  profession  In  the 
county  seat  of  one  of  the  older  and  more  populous 
counties.  At  the  end  of  this  period,  he  was  called  to 
a  village  In  a  neighboring  county  to  take  charge  of  a 
proposed  college.  It  was  his  purpose  when  he  left 
his  New  England  home  for  the  west  to  engage  In  the 
calling  of  a  teacher  for  which  he  was  peculiarly  fitted, 
but  the  college  scheme  was  never  carried  out  and  he 
devoted  his  life  to  the  practice  of  his  profession.  He 
was  twice  chosen  to  represent  his  county  In  the  State 
Legislature,  and  that  when  it  was  not  so  much  an 
empty  honor  as  now.  His  sterling  qualities  of  mind 
and  heart  commanded  respect  and  esteem  as  a  citizen 
as  well  as  a  physician.  Both  my  father  and  mother 
possessed  In  the  highest  and  most  beautiful  sense 
Christian  attributes  and  both  belonged  to  that  noble 
company  of  sturdy  pioneers  who  by  their  diligence 
and  virtue  gave  to  the  state  of  my  birth  the  noble 
name  it  bears  to-day.  My  father's  home  was  a  haven 
of  refuge  for  a  band  of  congregational  home  mission- 
ary pastors.  They  were  a  band  of  noble,  Intelligent, 
cultured  young  men,  Imbued  with  the  highest  Ideals 
as  to  their  calling  and  possessing  the  best  qualities  of 
mind  and  heart.  I  do  not  recall  that  any  one  of  them 
ever  did  aught  to  prejudice  their  calling,  which  after 
all  Is  saying  very  much.  One  of  them  still  lives,  a 
dear  silvery  haired  man,  widely  known  both  there  and 
in  the  East  and  universally  beloved. 

25 


AUTOBIOGRAPHY  OF  A  NEURASTHENE 

They  were  constantly  the  guests  of  my  childhood's 
home  and  unquestionably  exercised  a  helpful  influence 
upon  the  developing  minds  of  my  sisters  and  myself. 

My  mother  was,  the  embodiment  of  all  the  highest 
qualities  of  wife  and  mother,  than  which  there  is  no 
place  for  which  woman  is  better  fitted  or  in  which 
she  can  find  greater  happiness.  The  pioneer  life  call- 
ed out  the  best  and  most  sturdy  qualities  on  the  part 
of  all.  Seven  children  came  to  brighten  their  lives 
and  not  one  of  them  was  unwelcome,  save  that  the 
sister  next  older  than  myself  rebelled  most  bitterly 
when  the  last  one  came.  That  sister  rebelled  at  many 
things.  She  was  less  elemental  than  I,  as  were  my 
other  sisters,  and  her  fiber  was  more  that  of  remote 
ancestors,  whose  lives  were  spent  in  an  environment 
of  greater  ease  than  was  possible  to  the  children  of 
pioneer  parents  in  a  pioneer  land.  Had  she  lived, 
she  would  have  joined  the  vast  army  of  those  evi- 
dencing a  symptomatic  neurasthenia,  although  she 
would  never  have  been  an  essential  neurasthene,  for 
her  calibre  was  not  that  of  immolation,  nor  had  she 
the  mind  that  found  its  highest  interest  in  exacting 
studies.  She  was  essentially  the  sweet  and  sensitive 
woman  with  a  temperament  that  was  poetic  and  artis- 
tic and  withal  pleasure-loving.  I  recall  her  vividly 
as  she  appeared  in  the  months  following  my  father's 
death:  tall,  slender,  willowy,  with  an  oval,  dreamy 

26 


AUTOBIOGRAPHY  OF  A  NEURASTHENE 

face,  long  ringlets  of  beautiful  brown  hair  hanging 
over  her  shoulders,  dressed  in  densest  black  fashioned 
with  long  unbroken  lines  which  accentuated  her  slen- 
der grace.  The  pathetic  melancholy  of  her  face  en- 
hanced by  her  garb  was  to  a  certain  extent  inherent, 
but  the  death  of  her  fiancee,  which  followed  within  a 
few  months  of  that  of  our  father,  served  to  heighten 
her  air  of  dreamy  melancholy.  Luckily  for  her  as 
she  was  absolutely  unfitted  for  the  buffetings  of  an  un- 
sheltered life  it  was  ended  before  she  felt  the  strain 
that  came  from  my  father's  being  taken  away. 

The  sixth  child  was  my  little  brother,  my  father's 
namesake,  and  all  who  know  fatherhood  and  mother- 
hood know  what  his  birth  meant  to  my  parents. 
When  he  was  but  seven  months  old  we  all  had  whoop- 
ing cough.  I  remember  as  but  yesterday  how  I  clung 
to  one  or  the  other  of  the  posts  of  the  old-fashioned 
high  poster  bedstead  in  my  paroxysms  of  coughing 
with  no  especial  care  because  of  three  younger  ones, 
one  the  dear  little  brother  whose  sensitive  lung  tissue 
lacked  the  necessary  resistance  to  withstand  the  in- 
vasion of  the  pneumonic  germ.  Then  it  was  a  lung 
fever,  not  pneumonia,  and  the  pneumonic  germ  was 
undiscovered.  It  was  June  and  the  world  was  a  riot 
of  beauty.  One  day,  I  was  from  six  to  seven  years  of 
age,  when  everyone  having  any  responsibility  or  ap- 
preciation of  the  tragedy  being  enacted  were  con- 

27 


AUTOBIOGRAPHY  OF  A  NEURASTHENE 

cerned  for  the  dear  little  baby  and  my  broken-hearted 
parents,  I  wandered  away  Into  the  seclusion  of  the 
sunny  orchards,  where  wild  strawberries  were  grow- 
ing in  abundance.  I  was  apt  as  a  child,  and  still  am, 
when  trouble  or  change  came  to  find  my  way  to  some 
secluded  spot  and  I  have  never  known  anything  dearer 
or  sweeter  than  the  orchards  and  the  meadows  of  my 
childhood's  home.  In  my  childish  way  I  wanted  to 
do  something  that  would  be  helpful  and  kind  to  my 
little  brother  and  as  I  wandered  under  the  trees  and 
over  the  grass,  I  stooped  to  pick  the  delicious  wild 
strawberries,  breaking  the  stems  off  near  to  the 
ground  as  I  would  a  flower.  With  a  beautiful  cluster 
— the  picture  is  just  as  vivid  after  all  these  years  as  it 
was  on  that  radiant  June  day,  I  walked  back  to  the 
house  and  sat  down  on  the  doorstep  with  the  sun- 
shine all  about  me,  holding  fast  the  cluster  of  berries. 
This  memory  came  back  to  me  in  fullest  force  one 
beautiful  day  in  May  when  in  crossing  the  Appen- 
nines  on  the  way  from  Florence  to  Bologna  and 
thence  to  Venice  a  picturesque  group  of  olive-skinned 
Italian  children  presented  just  such  clusters  of  berries 
for  sale.  In  a  flash  I  was  back  in  that  pioneer  land, 
a  little  scrap  of  humanity  sitting  in  the  sunshine 
awaiting,  I  knew  not  what.  Something  seemed 
to  tell  me  not  to  go  inside;  I  remember 
it     was     so     still     and     hushed,     there     was     no 

28 


AUTOBIOGRAPHY  OF  A  NEURASTHENE 

one  about  as  I  sat  there  quiet  and  expectant.  It  was 
my  dear  father  who  came,  and  taking  me  on  his 
knee  told  me  that  my  little  brother  had  left  us.  I  re- 
member nothing  more  until  the  day  of  the  funeral 
when  once  more  memory  recalls  the  being  placed  in  a 
carriage  and  the  slow  processional  drive  to  the  ceme- 
tery and  the  lowering  of  the  little  white  coffin  into  the 
open  grave. 

From  that  time  on  I  was  my  father's  "boy"  and  we 
were  close  companions  and  comrades. 

What  a  peaceful  memory  that  is  of  my  childhood's 
home,  when  the  wild  wood  was  in  flower,  in  the  midst 
of  the  turmoil,  ceaseless  activity  of  this  busy,  bustling, 
yes  hustling  city.  Here  I  have  lived  for  many  years 
and  question  if  I  would  be  content  anywhere  else  or 
away  from  all  its  activities,  but  I  hold  these  childish 
memories  as  precious  and  priceless  and  have  a  feeling 
of  intense  pity  for  every  city-born  child. 

The  years  slipped  away  uneventfully  save  for  the 
delightful  Saturday  afternoons  in  the  autumn,  when 
my  father  arranged,  for  at  least  one  or  two  after- 
noons, his  professional  calls  so  that  he  might  be  free 
to  devote  himself  to  his  children.  Then  we  were 
bundled  into  the  light  wagon,  I  know  one,  two  or 
more  of  my  sisters  were  with  us,  but  it  is  only  my 
father  who  stands  out  clearly  in  my  memory.  I  have 
no  recollection  of  being  separated  from  him  at  all  on 

29 


AUTOBIOGRAPHY  OF  A  NEURASTHENE 

these  delightful  occasions  when  we  went  nutting — or 
rarely  for  that  matter. 

The  beauty  of  those  primitive  woods  along  the 
banks  of  the  creeks  and  rivers  of  a  section  to  which 
nature  had  been  prodigal  in  her  gifts.  In  the  spring 
time  the  rolling  meadows  and  pralreland  were  cov- 
ered with  a  wealth  of  beautiful  flowers,  regal  In  their 
beauty  of  coloring,  their  height  and  their  queen  like 
pose  in  the  midst  of  vast  stretches  of  unbroken  space. 
I  have  often  heard  my  mother  say  that  in  her  first 
glimpses  of  the  prairie  on  her  way  with  her  father  and 
family  from  Virginia  there  was  revealed  the  most 
beautiful  sight  she  had  ever  seen.  It  Is  not  the  same 
today,  there  is  lacking  the  beauty  of  youth  and  prime- 
val times.  This  is  true  it  would  have  had  less  charm, 
had  it  not  been  for  the  woodlands  bordering  the  in- 
land streams.  These  oftentimes  had  steep  and  pre- 
cipitous banks,  springs  were  concealed  here  and  there 
along  them,  while  the  formations  were  such  as  to 
command  the  Interest  of  the  geologist  far  and  near. 
But  the  wild  wood  all  alone  made  a  picture  that  has 
never  left  me  and  that  I  have  never  seen  reproduced. 
The  nearest  approach  to  It  I  found  several  years 
since  some  seventy  miles  distant  from  the  big  city  of 
my  adopted  home  and  its  similitude  led  to  the  acquire- 
ment of  a  bit  of  land  and  the  building  of  a  home 
thereupon.    Wild  cherries,  wild  plums — the  delicious 

30 


AUTOBIOGRAPHY  OF  A  NEURASTHENE 

chickasaw  plum — wild  apples  and  hosts  of  wild  flow- 
ers, quiet,  peaceful,  rippling  streams  or  roaring  tor- 
rents according  to  elemental  conditions,  oak,  hickory, 
maple,  walnut,  butternut  trees,  hazel  bushes  galore, 
blackberries,  raspberries,  wild  gooseberries,  grapes 
and  currents  all  combined  to  make  a  wilderness  of 
beauty.  In  the  autumn  the  foliage  was  brilliant  and 
beautiful.  The  sumach  added  its  brilliancy  to  the 
foliage  of  forest  trees  and  the  little  growing  things 
beneath  one's  feet  were  no  less  beautiful  in  their  va- 
ried autumn  tints  than  in  their  dainty  spring  time  ver- 
dure. 

The  joy  of  those  long  afternoons  in  the  autumn's 
golden  Indian  summer  radiance  with  the  invigorat- 
ing air  like  w^ine,  free  from  school  and  every  care, 
with  my  father  and  sisters.  The  delight  of  gathering 
the  nuts  already  fallen  and  as  they  fell  in  response 
to  the  furious  onslaught  of  my  father's  blows.  When 
the  various  bags  and  baskets  were  all  filled,  black 
walnuts,  w^hite  walnuts  or  butternuts,  hickory  nuts 
and  hazelnuts,  then  with  bits  of  gorgeous  autumn 
foliage,  gaily  decorating  every  part  of  the  wagon, 
we  drove  home  through  the  rapidly  falling  twilight. 
The  nuts  were  cared  for  by  myself  and  sisters  and  fur- 
nished forth  the  entertainment  with  apples  and  cider 
for  the  winter  evenings,  whether  we  were  alone  or 
had  guests. 

31 


AUTOBIOGRAPHY  OF  A  NEURASTHENE 

There  Is  a  memory  worth  reliving.  At  this  mo- 
ment I  am  longing  for  the  country  and  in  this  retro- 
spect I  have  a  comfort.  All  this  beauty  awaits  us  in 
different  parts  of  God's  country,  but  we  rarely  lift  our 
eyes  from  the  drudgery  which  environs  us  and  have 
practically  no  conception  of  such  a  picture  as  I  still 
see  and  have  tried  to  draw.  I  am  glad  my  childhood 
was  environed  in  this  fashion  and  that  its  memories 
have  not  escaped  recall. 


32 


CHAPTER  THREE 

'*0n  the  dark  stair  where  a  hear  is 
So  liable  to  follow  oneJ' 

THE  little  climbing  figure  on  the  stair 
clutching  her  skirt  with  one  hand  and 
looking  back  over  her  shoulder  in  her 
terror  to  the  foot  of  the  stair,  vividly 
illustrates  the  feeling  from  which  neu- 
rasthenes  suffer,  whether  children  or  adults.  I  recall 
the  terror  I  used  to  feel  as  a  child  when  my  father  or 
mother  sent  me  upstairs  after  dark  on  some  errand. 
In  a  pioneer  land  there  was  no  general  lighting  of 
the  house,  lamps  provided  the  illumination  of  living 
rooms,  while  candles  served  for  the  bed  rooms.  But 
the  children  were  not  permitted  to  carry  them.  I 
would  turn  cold  with  fear  and  dread  of  what  I  did 
not  know,  but  I  was  taught  to  obey  and  my  fear  was 
never  voiced.  Trem.bling  and  alone  I  would  go  to 
the  room  specified  to  get  the  desired  object.  This  I 
could  do  with  considerable  courage  because  I  knew 
what  and  whom  I  left  behind  me  in  the  warmth  and 
light,  but  when  I  turned  my  back  on  the  silence  and 
darkness  of  the  upper  floor  I  ran  downstairs  In  a  per- 

33 


AUTOBIOGRAPHY  OF  A  NEURASTHENE 

feet  panic,  but  always  with  the  thought  In  my  small 
mind  that  my  precipitate  descent  must  not  be  notice- 
able,— for  so  strong  was  the  Spartan  spirit  of  my 
early  life  and  environment  that  even  then  I  felt  that 
my  parents  must  not  know  my  fear  and  cowardice, 
for  so  I  regarded  It.  I  know  better  now  and  when  I 
have  the  care  of  nervous  children,  while  I  endeavor 
to  teach  them  self-control  and  courage,  I  try  to  spare 
them  needless  suffering.  Certain  Instincts  are  en- 
nobling, others  are  debasing,  but  all  are  Instinctive. 
Fear  of  darkness  Is  one  which  among  others  In  neu' 
rasthenes  Is  emphasized. 

The  religion  of  my  puritan  father  was  orthodox  In 
the  extreme.  One  of  the  books  to  which  I  had  access 
and  sought  because  It  was  Illustrated  was  the  Bible 
Dictionary.  I  can  this  moment  as  I  write  see  the 
exact  place  on  the  page  of  a  picture  of  a  heathen  god, 
made  of  Iron  and  with  a  roaring  furnace  fire  Inside, 
Into  which  little  children  not  of  the  elect  were  being 
condlgned.  It  always  gripped  me  with  terror.  Had 
my  dear  father  known  this  he  would  have  explained 
it  all  to  me  so  as  to  rob  It  of  Its  terrors,  but  I  never 
told  him  nor  any  one  until  since  my  illness  I  told  my 
physician,  and  then  only  when  we  were  talking  of  the 
means  to  be  used  to  prevent  the  development  of  the 
neurasthenic  condition  in  children  predisposed.  A 
younger  sister  whose  coming  Interfered  with  my  baby- 

34 


AUTOBIOGRAPHY  OF  A  NEURASTHENE 

hood  (I  think  the  early  deprivation  of  nature's  food 
is  one  reason  why  milk  has  been  my  standby  all  my 
life)  and  who  was  larger  and  stronger  than  I,  used 
to  keep  me  in  perfect  terror  by  telling  me  that  she 
had  swallowed  a  pin,  a  needle  or  a  button.  So  far  as 
I  can  understand  she  did  this  out  of  a  spirit  of 
mischief  pure  and  simple,  for  the  difference  in  our 
ages  was  such  that  naturally  we  had  the  same  habits 
of  work  and  play  and  were  always  very  happy  to- 
gether. I  never  told  my  mother  or  my  father  of  these 
things,  as  I  was  brought  up  not  to  tell  tales  on  my 
sister  nor  my  playmates.  But  this  sister  of  mine  gave 
me  many  a  maiivais  quart  d'heiire. 

When  a  child  of  about  three  or  four  I  begged  my 
mother  to  let  me  go  to  school  with  my  elder  sisters. 
She  preferred  the  request  to  my  father  who  said 
Yes !  I  could  go,  if  I  wanted  to  do  so.  The  teacher, 
a  New^  England  woman,  was  given  a  home  by  my 
parents  because  there  was  no  other  suitable  place  in 
that  pioneer  land.  I  do  not  recall  the  going,  but  I 
remember  distinctly  of  standing  before  this  teacher 
who  insisted  upon  my  using  the  book  provided  for 
the  regular  class.  I  refused  to  do  so,  for  I  had  with 
mie  my  greatest  treasure,  a  book  my  father  had  given 
me,  and  what  he  did  or  said  was  final  with  me.  She 
knew  I  was  not  to  be  regarded  as  a  regular  attendant 
and  she  w^as  also  indebted  to  my  father  and  mother 

35 


AUTOBIOGRAPHY  OF  A  NEURASTHENE 

for  her  home  and  many  courtesies.  But  she  kept  me 
standing  before  her,  insisting  that  I  should  read  from 
the  school  book  and  finally,  when  my  stubborn  little 
soul  would  not  yield,  took  up  the  ever  ready  ferule 
to  punish  me.  With  that  the  two  younger  sisters  of 
my  mother  and  my  elder  sisters  interfered  and  told 
her  she  should  not.  The  next  morning  I  begged  my 
mother  to  let  me  stay  home  saying  if  she  would  I 
would  be  so  very  good  and  learn  all  my  letters.  The 
matter  was  again  referred  to  my  father  who  said  by 
all  means,  I  was  too  young  for  school  and  that  he  only 
assented  because  of  my  desire.  I  taught  myself  the 
alphabet  to  read  and  spell,  going  to  my  mother  in  the 
midst  of  her  multifariously  busy  life,  as  the  wife  of  a 
country  practitioner  in  a  pioneer  country  as  well  as  the 
mother  of  young  children,  asking  "What  does  that 
spell,  mother?"  She  always  stopped  to  tell  me  and  I 
never  went  to  school  again  until  I  was  about  eight 
years  of  age  and  was  reading  In  what  was  known  as 
the  Fourth  Reader,  having  finshed  the  others  at  home. 
My  hatred  of  that  teacher  which  was  Intense  remain- 
ed with  me  until  my  adult  life.  The  experience  did 
me  no  good,  nor  did  that  with  another  teacher  who, 
when  I  was  from  eight  to  nine  years  of  age,  stood  me 
up  on  a  table  before  the  whole  school,  because  I  could 
not  give  the  entire  multiplication  table.  I  got  as  far 
as  the  nine's  and  there  I  floundered.     I  can  recall  all 

36 


AUTOBIOGRAPHY  OF  A  NEURASTHENE 

the  Intolerable  anguish  of  it,  the  publicity,  the  feeling 
that  I  had  failed,  and  that  to  me  was  Ignominy. 
Doubtless  these  and  other  experiences  emphasized  the 
condition  of  nerve  Instability  which  was  my  birth- 
right. My  parents  would  have  known  nothing  of 
this,  for  we  were  brought  up  to  obey,  and  a  punish- 
ment at  school  might  mean  another  at  home,  had  not 
my  aunt  visited  the  school  on  the  morning  in  question 
and  been  witness  to  what  she  felt  was  the  grossest 
indignity  and  injustice.  This  teacher  w^as  almost 
brutal  In  her  treatment  of  the  older  children,  especial- 
ly the  boys. 

Shortly  afterwards  she  became  the  wife  of  a  phy- 
sician friend  of  my  father's  of  whom  I  was  fond,  but 
I  could  not  understand  why  he  made  her  his  wife. 
Later  on  a  little  son  was  born.  Many  a  time  did  my 
mother  send  me  there  out  of  the  goodness  of  her  heart 
to  rock  the  baby's  cradle  or  watch  him  while  his 
mother  attended  to  duties  elsewhere.  Such  were  the 
neighborly  customs  in  this  primitive  country  in  which 
we  lived.  I  used  to  ponder  over  the  matter  in  my 
childish  mind  and  wonder  if  I  might  not  punish  that 
baby  in  some  way  in  payment  for  what  his  mother 
had  made  me  suffer.  But  I  never  did  and  was  always 
loyal  to  the  trust  reposed  in  me. 

All  these  things  have  made  me  very  considerate  of 
children  and  childish  terrors.     I  have  the  guidance 

37 


AUTOBIOGRAPHY  OF  A  NEURASTHENE 

now  of  a  young  girl  of  thirteen,  who  from  her  baby- 
hood has  suffered  from  neurasthenic  dread  and  fears. 
Fully  a  year  before  her  birth  her  father,  an  essential 
neurasthene,  was  my  patient  suffering  profoundly 
from  an  accentuation  of  his  neurasthenic  condition. 
In  response  to  my  questioning  at  his  first  visit  as  to 
whether  he  had  suffered  from  dread,  terror  or  mor- 
bid fears  I  found  that  he  had.  As  a  child  and  boy, 
if  he  had  been  away  from  home  for  a  day  or  a  part  of 
day,  upon  his  return  he  would  leave  his  horses  unat- 
tended and  rush  madly  up  the  hill  to  his  home  to  be 
sure  that  his  father  was  not  dead  or  that  nothing  had 
befallen  the  family  in  his  absence.  Replying 
to  my  specific  question  as  he  sat  at  the  end 
of  the  big  desk  In  my  consulting  room,  "Why, 
doctor,  if  you  should  put  ten  one-thousand 
dollar  bills  down  on  that  desk  and  tell  me 
I  could  have  them  if  I  would  go  from  here  to  Chi- 
cago alone,  I  would  not  touch  them.  I  would  rather 
be  in  the  company  of  the  worst  person  living  than  to 
be  alone  for  five  minutes."  He  Is  now  very  well  In 
these  regards,  although  apprehensive  to  a  degree  if 
any  of  his  family  are  not  well.  The  little  daughter 
was  born  a  potential  neurasthene  and  has  been  afraid 
of  a  nameless  something  nearly  all  her  short  life.  The 
development  of  obsessions  came  between  the  fourth 
and  fifth  years  of  age  and  were  excited  by  stories  of 

38 


AUTOBIOGRAPHY  OF  A  NEURASTHENE 

the  Devil,  told  her  by  the  child  of  the  colored  mammy 
cook.  Still,  by  an  absolutely  free  untrammelled  open 
air  life,  with  her  dogs  and  pony  cart  and  a  judicious 
mother,  she  is  doing  very  well.  Her  education  has 
to  be  carried  on  at  home  as  she  is  in  constant  fear 
even  when  the  nurse  and  coachman  of  from  fifteen  to 
twenty  years'  service  accompany  her  to  the  private 
school  and  bring  her  back,  of  some  terrible  disaster. 
I  question  whether  a  different  course  would  answer 
in  her  case,  for  she  has  not  the  sturdy  qualities  of 
courage  and  independence  which  were  of  necessity  a 
part  of  my  childish  life.  I  was  imbued  at  an  early 
age  with  a  feeling  of  responsibility  towards  life. 

One  of  my  earliest  recollections  is  of  my  mother's 
slipping  out  of  the  lighted  living  room  where  we  all 
gathered  at  night  to  the  long  low  characteristic  ve- 
randah of  the  farm  house  in  which  we  lived,  when  my 
father  had  not  returned  from  his  professional  visits 
which  took  him  far  afield  even  to  fifty  or  more  miles, 
with  the  woods  full  of  wild  cats,  the  prairies  of  wolves 
and  occasionally  Indians  crossing  his  path.  The  house 
overlooked  a  beautiful  lawn  which  stretched  in  its 
luxury  of  acreage  to  the  high  road,  a  magnificent 
osage  orange  hedge  defining  its  limit,  while  an  avenue 
of  locust  trees  helped  to  complete  the  wind  break  for 
the  extensive  orchards  of  apples,  peaches  as  well  as 
all  the  small  fruits  to  the  side  and  rear  of  the  house. 

39 


AUTOBIOGRAPHY  OF  A  NEURASTHENE 

I  cannot  recall  leaving  the  room  with  her  but  I  re- 
member distinctly  becoming  conscious  of  the  vastness^ 
silence  and  mystery  of  the  night,  sometimes  with  the 
stars  twinkling  overhead,  often  only  blackness  but 
never  of  moonlight,  (I  fancy  she  was  less  anxious  on 
moonlight  nights),  the  howling  of  the  prairie  wolves 
in  the  distance,  and  of  standing  there  not  much  more 
than  a  baby  with  my  hand  in  hers  and  disposed  to 
childlike  questioning,  when  suddenly  my  mother  who 
stood  In  strained  listening  attitude,  would  whlsper- 
ingly  say  "Hush,  hark",  and  then  way  down  the 
highway  there  would  come  the  first  faint  sound  of  the 
horses'  hoof  beats,  I  hear  them  still,  to  reward  her 
anxious  patient  solicitude.  It  was  my  father  return- 
ing from  his  weary  round.  While  the  free  untram- 
melled out  of  door  life  I  led  was  the  best  of  preven- 
tive measures,  undoubtedly  this  anxious  watching  and 
waiting  did  me  no'  good.  But  after  all  what  Is  wom- 
an's life, — whether  wife,  mother  or  that  of  a  doc- 
tor, but  watching  and  waiting.  One  night  when  my 
physician  was  coming  to  see  me  (I  was  far  from 
well)  he  was  late  beyond  his  usual  hour  and  I  grew 
very  tired  and  despondent  waiting.  When  he  came 
he  expressed  his  regret  that  he  should  have  kept  me 
waiting  so  long,  to  which  out  of  the  depths  of  my 
fatigue  and  depression  I  replied  "I  have  waited  all 
my  life,  doctor.     I  began  it  for  my  father,  while  I 

40 


AUTOBIOGRAPHY  OF  A  NEURASTHENE 

was  but  a  baby  and  It  still  goes  on.  I  have  waited  for 
the  little  expected  life  while  the  mother  was  in  agony, 
I  have  waited  for  the  dying,  I  have  watched  and 
waited  every  blessed  minute  of  my  life  and  I  suppose 
I  shall  end  it  all  by  watching  and  waiting  for  death. 
It  is  woman's  life."  To  which  he  answered  "Yes; 
and  I  am  thankful  I  am  not  a  woman." 

My  heart  was  wrapped  up  in  my  father.  He  un- 
derstood me  and  my  needs  and  with  his  gasping  breath 
while  dying,  his  last  words  were  those  of  concern 
for  me  and  my  future.  He  never  punished  me  save 
by  calling  me  to  kneel  at  his  side  and  voicing  a  word 
of  prayer  asking  that  I  should  be  forgiven  my  little 
wrongdoings.  It  was  the  hardest  punishment  to 
bear  I  could  have  received,  however,  and  the  memory 
of  it  has  remained  helpfully  with  me  all  my  life.  On 
the  other  hand,  he  saved  me  from  punishment  and 
reprimand  by  my  mother  who  understood  me  less 
well.  From  the  time  that  I  could  reach  the  table  by 
standing  on  a  footstool,  it  had  been  my  duty  to  help 
in  the  washing  of  the  dishes.  One  summer  morning 
I  remember,  perhaps  I  was  ten  or  eleven, — that  a 
very  large  and  valuable  soup  tureen  slipped  through 
my  hands  and  fell  crashing  to  the  verandah  floor.  My 
father  was  coming  down  the  garden  walk  from  the 
barn,  where  he  had  been  to  direct  his  man  about  the 
"buggy"  and  horses  for  his  professional  visits.     My 

41 


AUTOBIOGRAPHY  OF  A  NEURASTHENE 

mother  felt  that  I  had  been  careless  and  was  about  to 
punish  me,  when  my  father's  voice  rang  out  on  the 
quiet  of  the  summer  morning  "Don't  punish  that 
child  my  dear  she  cannot  help  it."  Was  any  one  ever 
so  grateful  as  I  and  with  what  diligence  I  applied 
myself  to  the  little  tasks  he  set  me. 

It  is  my  hope  that  these  experiences  of  mine  may 
suggest  to  father  and  mothers  the  need  of  knowing 
and  meeting  their  children's  needs,  to  the  end  of  as- 
suring them  a  fair  degree  of  health.  It  is  only  since 
my  severe  illness  nearly  thirteen  years  since  that  I  have 
ceased  to  dream  of  being  a  child  cradled  in  my  fath- 
er's arms,  the  luxury  of  which  I  never  fully  realized 
until  convalescent  from  an  attatck  of  "membranous 
croup".  I  have  missed  him  long  years  and  I  still  miss 
the  comfort  of  that  dream.  I  felt  the  sense  of  pro- 
tection which  I  have  often  experienced  the  need  of  in 
the  publicity  of  my  professional  life.  In  a  sense  it  is 
a  life  as  public  as  that  of  the  footlights,  and  the  only 
way  I  have  been  able  to  bear  it  and  keep  my  courage 
up  has  been  by  the  withdrawal  of  myself  into  the 
quiet  cloistered  enclosure  of  my  library,  with  my 
books,  pictures,  music  and  an  occasional  friend. 


42 


CHAPTER  FOUR 

"It' s  the  dieting  and  rubbing  the  race  horse  that 
makes  him  thin  as  a  flash,  that  he  may  be  as  swift 


too." 


W.  M.  Baker,  New  Timothy. 

"Spare  fast,  that  oft  with  gods  doth  diet.'' 

Milton,  II  Penseroso. 

ALL  my  life  I  have  been  called  to  account 
because  I  did  not  eat  enough.  In  this 
opinion  my  physician  has  always  agreed. 
In  fact,  it  has  afforded  him  much  merri- 
ment from  time  to  time  when,  in  re- 
sponse to  his  inquiry  as  to  my  appetite — what  did  I 
take  and  how  much,  I  have  told  him  of  one  French 
chop.  Before  I  could  mention  in  detail  the  remainder 
of  my  dinner,  I  was  met  with  a  smile  and  the  exclama- 
tion :  "Why,  I  eat  those  things  with  a  spoon".  Often 
and  again  has  he  recommended  me  to  take  half  an 
ounce  of  bird  seed.  Now,  this  has  not  been  willful  nor 
a  pose  on  my  part.  As  a  child  I  have  no  recollection 
but  that  I  ate  well.  I  can  recall  very  distinctly  how 
much  I  enjoyed  things  and  that  the  home  table  was 
all  gracious  with  nutritious,  well-cooked  and  whole- 
some food.     Comparatively  few  sweets  or  kickshaws 

43 


AUTOBIOGRAPHY  OF  A  NEURASTHENE 

were  provided  and  the  pleasure  of  the  palate  which 
has  lingered  with  me  all  the  years,  was  home-made 
pot-cheese,  gooseberry  jam,  bread  and  cream.  The 
pot-cheese  was  always  made  from  the  sour  and  clab- 
bered milk  of  the  dairy  and  hung  out  to  drain  in  the 
kitchen  garden.  It  was  placed  in  a  cloth  or  napkin 
of  thin  material  kept  for  the  purpose,  and  only  one 
other  thing  gave  me  the  same  gustatory  delight  as 
biting  a  hole  in  the  napkin  and  sucking  such  portion 
of  the  cheese  therefrom  as  I  could  safely  take  without 
interfering  with  my  mother's  plans  for  the  table.  I 
do  not  know  why  I  took  it  in  that  way  for  I  could 
always  have  it  for  the  asking.  I  fancy  there  was  an 
intuitive  knowledge  of  Metchnikoff's  discovery  of  the 
intestinal  bacilli  foreshadowed  in  my  mind.  At  any 
rate,  my  fondness  for  and  appreciation  of  all  fer- 
mented milk  stuffs,  buttermilk,  clabbered  milk,  pot- 
cheese,  is  life-long.  Now  the  prepared  milk  foods 
enter  largely  into  my  dietary  and  have  for  twenty-five 
years.  They  do  not,  however,  replace  the  buttermilk, 
clabbered  milk  and  pot-cheese  of  my  childhood. 

My  other  favorite  dish,  although  served  in  abun- 
dance on  the  table,  was  most  enjoyed  when  obtained 
in  a  predatory  manner.  To  get  into  the  pantry  ad- 
joining the  dairy  and  with  a  slice  of  home-made 
bread,  a  jar  of  gooseberry  jam,  a  pan  of  milk  covered 
with  cream,  I  was  content.  My  mother  used  to  won- 
der why  the  cream  did  not  rise. 

44 


AUTOBIOGRAPHY  OF  A  NEURASTHENE 

But  just  two  months  before  my  fourteenth  birth- 
day myphysiclan  fatherwho  had  just  reached  the  time 
of  Hfe  when  his  professional  career  promised  ade- 
quate financial  returns  for  the  needs  of  his  large  fam- 
ily, fell  ill  with  a  typhoid  pneumonia.  It  was  a  fore- 
gone conclusion  in  his  mind  that  he  could  not  get  well 
from  the  start.  That  naturally  prejudiced  the  result, 
and  in  two  weeks  life  had  slipped  its  moorings  for  him 
and  my  mother  was  left  with  six  daughters — two  old- 
er andthreeyounger  than  myself — and  but  a  few  thou- 
sand dollars.  With  my  father's  death  I  lost  the  best 
friend  I  had,  the  one  who  understood  my  tempera- 
ment and  my  needs.  On  his  deathbed  my  future  was 
the  one  that  concerned  him  most.  He  knew  I  was  not 
strong  and  that  to  insure  the  best  of  conditions  I 
should  be  carefully  cared  for.  Instead,  at  the  age  of 
fifteen  I  began  teaching  country  schools  in  order  to 
pay  for  the  education  I  wanted.  In  the  homes  of  the 
primitive  farm  people,  where  I  could  obtain  board, 
with  foodstuffs  abundant  the  cooking  was  so  badly 
done  that  I  could  not  eat,  and  away  from  home,  with 
no  one  to  look  after  me,  my  nutrition  naturally  suf- 
fered, while  from  trying  to  eat  the  coarse  food  pro- 
vided for  the  working  man,  my  digestion  was  preju- 
diced. Tea  and  coffee,  which  I  had  never  been  al- 
lowed at  home,  were  taken  off  and  on  to  supply  the 
stimulus  which  should  have  come  from  the  ingestion 
of  suitable  food.     More  than  that,  if  I  was  not  im- 

45 

4 


AUTOBIOGRAPHY  OF  A  NEURASTHENE 

mersed  in  a  book,  my  head  was  in  the  clouds.  I  led  a 
very  practical  life  on  the  one  hand  for  young  as  I 
was  I  gained  the  reputation  of  being  one  of  the  best 
teachers  in  the  county,  but  on  the  other  hand  I  led  a 
dreamy,  introspective  sort  of  life.  I  could  always — 
not  only  then,  but  now  as  well — make  my  mind  to  me 
a  kingdom.  It  has  been  a  saving  clause  throughout  a 
peculiarly  secluded  life  in  a  social  sense,  although  a 
very  public  one  in  its  business  relation. 

The  teaching  off  and  on  throughout  my  early  life 
alternated  with  my  college  days,  as  I  had  to  provide 
the  money.  At  college  I  cared  for  myself  much  of 
the  time  and  food  interested  me  less  than  books.  In 
this  way  unquestionably  desire  for  food  and  digestive 
ability  were  lessened.  I  can  recall  while  a  student  that 
studies  were  never  neglected  and  that  I  made  book 
after  book  my  own,- but  I  never  stopped  long  enough 
to  get  anything  but  cornmeal  mush  and  milk  to  eat. 
It  cost  little  money,  was  easily  prepared  and  I  liked  it. 
When  finished,  if  it  were  summer  time  with  book  in 
hand  I  sought  the  nearby  woodland  and  finding  a 
comfortable  nook,  would  at  once  lose  sight  of  every 
material  thing. 

Upon  my  return  to  my  mother's  house  for  the  vaca- 
tion I  remember  that  much  was  said  as  tO'  my  physical 
condition  and  I  know  I  was  anaemic  and  badly  nour- 
ished. All  through  life  there  has  been  stress  and 
strain  with  no  one  to  look  after  my  needs.    The  years 

46 


AUTOBIOGRAPHY  OF  A  NEURASTHENE 

have  been  so  filled  with  care  for  others,  and  I  have 
been  so  utterly  worn  and  exhausted  that  when  meal 
time  came  the  thought  and  sight  of  food  has  been 
repugnant.  I  have  always  taken  it,  however,  and 
always  to  my  full  digestive  ability.  Luckily  I  have 
rarely  been  unable  to  take  milk  either  in  Its  natural 
condition  or  the  fermented  milk  preparations.  But 
too  often  I  have  gone  to  my  arduous  exhausting  work 
insufficiently  fed.  I  knew  it  as  well  as  others,  but  I 
have  done  the  best  I  could,  and  tO'  have  eaten  more 
meant  such  physical  distress  that  I  could  not.  Had 
my  father  lived  these  things  would  not  have  been. 
My  education  would  have  been  provided,  and  I  would 
have  been  carefully  watched  and  guarded.  He  always 
called  me  his  boy;  my  only  brother  succumbed  at 
the  age  of  seven  months  to  pneumonia,  as  has  been 
told,  and  I  was  just  as  far  as  possible  his  constant 
companion.  I  read  French  with  him  every  day  when 
a  small  child.  I  learned  to  harness  his  horse  Into  the 
doctor's  buggy  in  which  he  drove  long  distances  over 
the  country  from  less  than  a  mile  to  fifty  and  more  on 
his  professional  visits,  and  was  more  than  content  if, 
when  not  too  long  a  distance,  I  was  asked  to  go  along. 
He  taught  me  to  drive,  and  for  miles  and  miles  we 
would  jog  along,  I  with  my  feet  hanging  from  the 
"buggy"  seat,  because  my  legs  were  not  long  enough 
to  reach  the  floor,  the  reins  In  my  hands,  while  my 
father  talked  with  me,    answered  my  questions   or 

47 


AUTOBIOGRAPHY  OF  A  NEURASTHENE 

repeated  to  me  the  thought  of  the  best  writers  wheth- 
er in  prose  or  verse.  He  had  always  been  a  student 
and  an  indefatigable  reader. 

Although  we  lived  in  a  pioneer  country,  none  but 
the  best  literature  was  provided.  Books  were  few, 
for  they  cost  money  and  we  lived  far  from  any  centre. 
My  daily  companions  were  the  Bible,  Bible  Diction- 
ary, Shakespeare,  Milton,  Tom  Moore,  Burns,  Tup- 
per's  Proverbial  Philosophy  which  had  slipped  into 
the  little  collection  of  books  somehow,  the  Scottish 
Chiefs  Scott's  novels,  Fox's  Book  of  Martyrs  and  later 
Dickens.  I  remember  with  what  delight  I  listened  in 
the  long  winter  evenings  to  my  father  and  also  an  uncle 
as  they  read  aloud  to  the  assembled  family.  Shakes- 
peare was  apt  to  furnish  forth  our  intellectual  feast, 
but  I  had  great  happiness  in  listening  to  Little  Dorrit, 
while  as  a  child  the  rhythm  and  story  of  Hiawatha  as 
read  by  my  father  gave  me  great  delight.  Children's 
books  I  rarely  had,  and  it  was  not  until  after  my  fath- 
er's death  and  in  my  fifteenth  year  that  I  knew  the 
delights  of  Grimm's  Fairy  Tales.  The  Little  Pil- 
grim, published  in  Boston,  was  the  children's  maga- 
zine then  and  its  periodical  visits  were  more  than  wel- 
come. The  picture  of  the  "Little  Pilgrim"  on  the 
cover  interested  me  greatly,  but  I  wondered  why  he 
was  represented  with  the  toes  of  both  feet  squarely 
cut  off.  I  know  now  that  this  was  not  true,  but  that 
the  illusion  was  due  to  the  very  sturdy  square  toed 

48 


AUTOBIOGRAPHY  OF  A  NEURASTHENE 

shoes  affected  by  the  "Little  Pilgrim".  This  maga- 
zine which  was  edited  by  Grace  Greenwood  was  for 
a  long  time  the  delight  of  the  children  of  this  country. 
I  do  not  recall  in  all  these  years  having  notions 
about  food,  simply  a  persisting  inability  to  take  care 
of  it  because  of  my  chronic  fatigue.  If  fame  to  that 
extent  were  mine,  I  would  with  Voltaire  be  willing  to 
give  not  only  three  hundred  years,  but  eons  of  It  for 
one  good  digestion.  I  mean  to  have  it  before  I  get 
through  living.  One  of  these  days  I  am  going  to 
have  a  beautiful  rest,  days  filled  with  content  and 
happiness.  That  is  the  way  happiness  comes,  through 
content  and  with  the  rest  obtained  from  long  days 
of  repose  spent  In  the  open  and  enveloped  in  radi- 
ance w^Ith  loving  thought  about  me,  I  shall  reap  the 
aftermath  of  life's  harvest.  As  In  the  life  of  every 
conscientious  physician  there  are  many  w^ho  rise  up 
to  call  me  blessed,  and  In  remembering  their  better- 
ment, appreciation,  gratitude  even,  I  shall  forget  the 
hours,  days,  years  of  sordid  effort,  the  periods  of 
utter  exhaustion  accompanied  oftentimes  by  so  In- 
tense a  desire  for  food  that  I  have  dreamed  while 
snatching  a  few^  minutes'  rest  before  going  on  of  the 
most  delicious  beefsteak  or  of  the  country  fried  chick- 
en of  my  childhood.  No  I  could  not  eat  either,  and 
had  to  go  on  with  the  accustomed  simple  pabulum 
of  which  I  was  unutterably  weary.  This  Is  all  wrong. 
Not  long  since  I  was  sought  In  my  office  by  a  man  of 

49 


AUTOBIOGRAPHY  OF  A  NEURASTHENE 

prestige,  position,  wealth,  because  of  his  persistent 
malnutrition,  and  later  at  their  residence  I  visited  his 
wife  who  was  equally  impoverished  and  whose  neu- 
ronic energy  has  been  severely  told  upon  by  her  lack 
of  nutrition.  In  her  case  a  tubercular  taint  had  em- 
phasized the  trouble.  I  never  lose  sight  of  the  gulli- 
bility of  human  nature,  but  I  was  impressed  anew  as 
to  its  degree  and  extent  from  my  professional  inter- 
views with  these  two  really  very  charming  people. 
They  seemed  to  have  encompassed  all  the  fads  and 
cults  extant  in  their  search  after  health,  after  hav- 
ing exhausted  the  resources  of  their  former  regular 
attending  physicians  as  well  as  new  thought,  mental 
healing.  Christian  Science  on  the  psychical  side,  while 
on  the  dietary  they  have  Fletcherized  to  their  undo- 
ing. A  few  years  since  I  took  care  of  an  elderly  pro- 
fessional woman  who,  in  the  heyday  of  her  life,  had 
enjoyed  the  so-called  good  things  of  this  earth  to  her 
satisfaction.  In  no  way,  perhaps,  had  she  been  more 
self-indulgent,  than  in  the  matter  of  food — a  gour- 
mand in  fact.  As  the  years  slipped  by,  she  came  to 
have  the  usual  untoward  conditions  which  are  pretty 
sure  to  follow  in  later  life  if  youth  and  middle  age 
have  not  been  considerate  of  the  chemism  of  life. 
This  led  to  a  cultivation  of  all  kinds  of  fads  and 
she  Fletcherized  almost  to  the  point  of  inanition.  Her 
flesh  dropped  off  by  the  pounds,  her  digestion  gave 
out  and  her  nerves  went  all  agley.     She  could  not 

SO 


AUTOBIOGRAPHY  OF  A  NEURASTHENE 

speak  without  weeping  and  was  practically  impossible 
to  live  with,  as  her  nurse  and  companion  experienced 
daily.  In  directing  her  care  and  in  response  to  her 
queries  as  to  Jier  dietary  habit  and  methods,  I  said 
without  embellishment,  "For  heaven's  sake,  doctor, 
be  sensible.  Chew  your  food,  yes,  and  chew  it  well, 
but  get  away  from  fads.  Do  not  be  afraid  of  sim- 
ple, wholesome,  wellcooked  food,  but  do  not  be  a 
gourmand,  nor  yet  an  ascetic." 

A  more  liberal  diet  was  ordered,  my  advice  tak- 
en, flesh  regained  and  nerves  lost  their  instability. 
Now !  She  had  every  chance,  plenty  of  money,  and 
nothing  to  do  but  to  pleasure  herself.  A  young  man 
who  knew  her  asked  me  what  she  did  besides  being  a 
new  thought  devotee.  I  replied  "cuts  off  coupons". 
She  would  have  been  better  off  with  less  selfish  and 
more  vital  interests.  Just  so  these  charming  people, 
man  and  w^ife,  have  in  their  effort  to  regain  their 
health  jeopardized  their  best  interests  by  their  quest 
of  fads  and  their  hourly  watching  themselves  and 
weighing  the  pros  and  cons  as  to  the  merits  and  de- 
merits of  different  articles  of  food. 

I  have  a  problem  before  me,  but  I  mean  to  meet  it 
and  out  of  my  own  experience  will  come  the  knowl- 
edge which  will  serve  their  needs.  To  know  how  best 
to  serve  one's  fellow^  man  in  the  capacity  of  physician, 
hard  as  it  is  for  oneself,  is  to  have  passed  through  the 
fiery  furnace.     I  only  know  this,  that  with  the  abun- 

51 


AUTOBIOGRAPHY  OF  A  NEURASTHENE 

bant  means  and  opportunity  that  they  have,  I  would 
not  with  my  mental  attitude  toward  life,  let  many 
months  pass  before  I  should  know  a  fair  degree  of 
health  which  means  nutrition. 

Radiance  is  all  about  me  as  I  write  this  and  the 
possibilities  in  the  way  of  complete  health  with  its 
opportunities  rises  before  me  alluringly.  I  would  hie 
me  away  to  a  simple  life  in  the  country,  they  are  twain 
and  they  should  be  content,  or  get  on  a  Mediterran- 
ean steamer  and  sail  on  and  on,  taking  still  other 
steamers,  forgetting  nerves,  stomachs  and  self  in  the 
beauty  and  delight  of  it  all.  Fresh  air,  radiance, 
changing  scene,  different  peoples,  but  in  the  midst  of 
it  all  never  forgetting  that  the  best  cannot  be  obtained 
without  giving  thought  to  the  needs  of  one's  kind. 
Vital  interests  are  necessary  to  health  and  nothing  is 
more  vital  than  living  beings.  So  many  need  help 
of  all  sorts,  interest,  affection,  companionship,  as  well 
as  the  more  sordid  wherewithal. 

I  can  but  wonder  what  would  happen  to  these  two, 
barring  the  tuberculous  aspect,  which  while  curable 
prejudices  the  case,  if  they  had  to  take  on  my  many 
duties  and  I  could  have  their  abundance.  This  one 
thing  I  know,  T would  have  the  most  beautiful  gor- 
geous time  imaginable.  There  are  so  many  for  whom 
I  should  at  once  ease  the  financial  way,  not  with  an 
out-and-out  gift — for  that  it  seems  to  me  is  unwise — 
but  with  such  an  addition  to  their  income  as  would 

52 


AUTOBIOGRAPHY  OF  A  NEURASTHENE 

make  the  way  easier  to  the  end  of  less  fret,  strain, 
carking  care  and  therefore  better  health.  What  a 
life  it  would  be — an  inspiration  that  would  last  to 
the  end  of  their  and  my  days.  There  are  ways  of 
doing  these  things  for  others  without  injury  to  their 
inborn  pride  and  independence. 

This  done  then  there  are  two  charming  young 
women,  one  a  few  years  younger,  the  other  just  ov^er 
the  thirtieth  milestone,  both  potential  neurasthenes 
and  both  with  the  condition  actually  in  evidence  much 
of  the  time,  because  life's  obligations  have  to  be  met 
out  of  a  limited  nerve  reserve.  They  are  not  only 
capable  and  intelligent  with  well  trained  intellects, 
but  in  common  with  the  rest  of  us  psychical  as  well, 
not  in  any  untoward  way,  but  more  of  the  soul  than 
the  material  world.  So  keen  and  brilliant  are  they 
that  one  does  not  grow  weary  in  their  company  and 
so  appreciative  of  all  good  things  that  come  their  way 
as  to  give  the  keenest  pleasure  to  the  one  that  pleas- 
ures them.  They  would  immicdiately  be  commanded 
to  be  ready  w4th  the  simplest  wardrobe  and  accoutre- 
ment to  sail  away  into  a  restful  radiance  for  an  un- 
limited absence  and  bade  to  leave  all  care  behind.  It 
would  take  me  but  a  little  time  to  cut  off  my  interests, 
less  to  prepare  for  the  journey  and  in  it  with  this  com- 
panionship, without  care  and  work  I  should  get  rested 
and  strong.  Dear  me,  I  have  worked  and  waited  for 
this  all  my  life.     I  am  said  to  obtain  whatever  I  set 

53 


AUTOBIOGRAPHY  OF  A  NEURASTHENE 

my  heart  upon,  therefore  this  must  come  and  before 
I  lose  my  perennial  youth. 

A  physician  who  would  meet  the  requirements  of 
his  calling  in  the  highest  sense,  should  in  addition  to 
his  medical  care  of  his  patients,  be  able  to  tide  them 
over  financial  difficulties  as  well,  for  to  the  physician 
usually  confessions  are  made  which  lay  bare  the  whole 
fabric  of  life  and  they  know  all  the  internal  needs  of 
those  seeking  advice. 

Let  multimillionaires,  bent  on  bettering  their  kind 
and  getting  rid  of  some  of  their  unnecessary  wealth, 
for  they  cannot  take  it  beyond,  if  beyond  there  be 
other  than  transformed  energy,  put  their  thought  to 
this  problem. 

I  began  these  pages  in  relation  to  diet,  but  in  this 
wide  divergence  I  have  never  lost  sight  of  my  theme 
and  all  that  I  have  said  bears  an  intimate  relation 
thereto.  After  all,  work  that  is  not  beyond  one's 
strength,  fatigue  which  is  happy  not  sordid — there  is 
such  a  vast  difference  between  them  and  their  influence 
upon  the  intelligence  and  spirit,  how  vast  I  only  fully 
realized  recently — is  not  harmful,  but  to  the  good  of 
every  living  being. 

It  was  morning  and  my  office  hour.  There  was 
every  reason  why  I  should  be  very  tired  and  show  the 
evidences  of  it  in  my  countenance.  There  was  no 
neuronic  record  of  sordid  fatigue — on  the  contrary. 
I  was  in  conversation  with  a  patient  concerning  her 

54 


AUTOBIOGRAPHY  OF  A  NEURASTHENE 

condition,  when  she  suddenly  Interrupted  her  story, 
looked  at  me  and  said:  "You  don't  look  tired  this 
morning,  doctor,  you  look  as  though  you  had  some 
beautllul  memory  or  some  pleasant  expectancy."  This 
was  true,  but  I  do  not  know  what  gave  her  the 
prescience  to  see  It.  It  was  something  which  I  per- 
sonally had  not  analyzed,  and  more  I  was  entirely 
unconscious  of  the  fact  that  I  was  carrying  impris- 
oned In  my  countenance  such  a  tell-tale  record.  There 
came  to  me  like  a  flash  a  realization  of  the  difference 
between  sordid  and  happy  fatigue.  I  had  not  so 
often  known  the  latter  as  to  have  recognized  this 
truth.  Additionally  I  realized  that  I  must  set  a  guard 
upon  my  tell-tale  face,  not  to  shut  out  the  happy  look, 
but  the  one  of  fatigue  and  care  which  she  had  noted 
and  with  which  she  contrasted  the  one  that  suggested 
a  beautiful  memory  or  some  pleasant  expectancy. 
There  would  be  more  such  happy  facial  records,  did 
we  more  often  lend  the  helping  hand  all  along  the 
way  according  to  our  abundance  and  In  so  doing,  the 
literal  as  well  as  the  figurative  weight  would  be  lifted 
from  the  solar  plexus  and  good  digestion  would  more 
often  wait  upon  appetite  as  well  as  the  latter  be 
healthfully  stimulated. 


55 


CHAPTER  FIVE 

"The  trouble  with  you,  doctor,  is  that  you  have 
sprained  your  brain  J  ^ 

I  HAD  been  working  very  hard  and  steadily. 
There  had  been  no  let  up  nothing  to  lighten 
the  burdens  I  was  carrying  financial  or  pro- 
fessional. My  environment  had  reached  a 
degree  of  supersaturation  with  the  pains  and 
problems  of  life. 

In  addition  to  an  active  private  practice  command- 
ing the  best  energies  of  mind  and  body,  I  did  a  great 
deal  of  clinical  work  and  threw  myself  into  it  heart 
and  soul.  I  served  the  different  organizations  of 
which  I  was  a  member  as  chairman  of  committees,  as 
secretary,  and  as  president,  while  executive  work  was 
sure  to  find  me  sooner  or  later.  In  addition  there 
was  a  great  deal  of  teaching  as  well  as  writing.  My 
clinical  work  brought  me  in  contact  with  the  host  of 
chronic  conditions  for  which  people  seek  relief,  and 
especially  nerve  conditions.  The  universality  of  my 
human  interest  brought  me  the  confidences  of  all  of 
them,  the  most  intimate  even,  and  with  the  tales  of 
suffering  as  well  as  by  reason  of  illness  and  lack  of 
independent  means  life  was  to  me  a  veritable  Gethse- 

56 


AUTOBIOGRAPHY  OF  A  NEURASTHENE 

mane.  Of  course  this  was  the  time  that  grief  and 
trouble  came,  and  the  heat  of  summer  told  severely 
upon  my  small  reserve. 

An  opportunity  presented  itself  for  the  doing  of  a 
piece  of  work  in  collaboration  with  another.  This 
involved  careful  research  and  constant  hours  of  labor 
in  order  to  complete  it  at  the  time  promised.  A  pa- 
tient, long  since  gone  to  her  rest  had  placed  at  my 
disposition  her  ancestral  home,  over  a  hundred  years 
old,  on  a  beautiful  island  in  the  beautiful  Sound  of 
Long  Island  as  it  slips  away  to  the  sea.  In  July  with 
my  serv^ants  and  secretary  I  took  possession.  All  my 
papers,  data  and  books  of  reference  accompanied  me, 
and  as  soon  as  the  household  was  organized  and  set- 
tled to  the  requirements  of  our  Robinson  Crusoe  sort 
of  life — for  we  were  absolutely  isolated,  having  no 
neighbors  save  only  the  boatmen  w^ho  carried  us  back 
and  forth  to  the  main  land — I  got  to  work.  Every 
morning  we  rose  early  and  immediately  upon  the  com- 
pletion of  breakfast — by  half  past  seven  always — I 
began  my  labors.  Hour  after  hour  I  toiled  interested 
beyond  words  in  w^hat  I  was  doing  and  unconscious 
of  the  fact  that  I  was  hour  by  hour  exhausting  my 
nerve  centres.  I  always  suspended  work  for  a  time 
in  the  afternoon  to  give  my  secretary  a  rest.  During 
this  interim  it  was  my  custom  to  lie  down,  but  I  rarely 
slept  not  even  at  night.  I  was  profoundly  anaemic, 
white  as  the  driven  snow^  almost,  and  cared  nothing 

57 


AUTOBIOGRAPHY  OF  A  NEURASTHENE 

for  food.  There  was  never  a  moment's  freedom 
from  pain,  nor  had  there  been  for  a  year.  An  injury 
to  a  nerve  trunk  of  an  upper  extremity  had  initiated 
the  vicious  circle  which  my  grief,  overwork,  and  im- 
paired physical  condition  perpetuated.  Every  nerve 
trunk  hurt  from  morning  until  night,  but  especially 
from  night  to  morning.  I  could  not  always  control 
myself  and  many  times  have  had  no  resource  but  to 
voice  my  distress  in  a  subdued  moaning.  My  bed 
room  was  sufficiently  remote  from  the  others  that  I 
could  safely  indulge  in  this  luxury  of  expression  with- 
out disturbing  any  one. 

Before  the  summer  was  spent,  a  friend  a  trained 
nurse,  came  to  spend  a  few  days  with  me.  Her  room 
adjoined  mine,  and  I  was  betrayed  into  an  expression 
of  pain  as  it  got  beyond  my  power  of  control.  In- 
stantly she  was  on  the  alert  and  wanted  to  know  if  she 
should  not  come  in  and  give  me  a  gentle  massage.  It 
was  my  right  sciatic  nerve  which  was  in  such  evidence, 
as  it  had  been  for  many  weary  sleepless  nights,  and 
finally  after  a  long  time  I  said  she  might  if  she  would 
be  very  gentle.  I  had  never  been  able  to  take  mas- 
sage even  from  the  most  skilled  operators,  nor  when  I 
was  in  fair  health  as  it  always  left  me  limp  and 
exhausted,  while  the  presence  of  another  and  the  per- 
sonal touch  was,  and  for  that  matter  is  a  pain  beyond 
words.  The  morning  following  the  rubbing  found 
me  haggard,  limp  and  worse.     I  went  to  the  City, 


AUTOBIOGRAPHY  OF  A  NEURASTHENE 

however,  to  keep  a  professional  appointment,  but 
found  it  extremely  difficult  to  meet  the  day's  duties 
and  return  to  my  island  home.  For  once  I  was  glad 
there  was  a  self-reliant  person  under  my  roof,  al- 
though in  response  to  her  inquiry  at  bed  time  if  she 
should  not  rub  me,  I  said  by  no  means.  The  anguish 
of  nerve  pain  and  exhaustion  was  well  nigh  beyond 
me  and  the  vibrations  of  another  personality  so  inti- 
mately close  was  beyond  my  power  of  endurance.  The 
dampness  inseparable  from  our  island  home  served  to 
still  further  depress  me,  and  every  vestage  of  my 
color  disappeared.  Twice  since  I  have  tried  summers 
on  the  north  shore  of  Long  Island  Sound,  but  each 
autumn  has  found  me  profoundly  anaemic  and  suffer- 
ing an  accentuation  of  my  nerve  exhaustion.  This 
experience  renders  me  cautious  in  the  matter  of  send- 
ing neurasthenic  patients  to  the  shores  of  land-locked 
bodies  of  water,  especially  the  north  shores.  A  so- 
journ on  the  south  shore  of  the  Sound  or  the  north 
shore  of  Long  Island  was  never  accompanied  by  such 
complete  lowering  of  vital  resistance. 

But  I  did  not  give  up  my  work.  I  had  been  brought 
up  with  the  stern  sense  of  duty — mistaken  oftentimes 
— which  characterized  my  Puritan  ancestors.  To 
have  given  a  promise  that  I  would  do  the  work  upon 
which  I  was  engaged  and  have  it  done  at  a  certain 
time  was  to  me  like  the  laws  of  the  Medes  and  Per- 
sians  absolutely  unalterable.      There   was  no   other 

59 


AUTOBIOGRAPHY  OF  A  NEURASTHENE 

course  to  be  entertained  for  one  moment.  The  six 
weeks  for  which  I  had  accepted  the  house  gradually 
drew  near  their  close.  I  was  to  stay  until  the  first 
of  September.  Before  that  date  I  began  to  feel  very 
strangely,  but  I  relaxed  none  of  my  effort  In  bringing 
my  work  to  completion.  Finally  there  came  to  me 
a  sense  of  dread  and  terror  beyond  my  comprehension. 
My  eyes  caught  the  muscles  of  my  colorless  hands 
quivering  one  day  similarly  It  seemed  to  me  as  the 
fibrillary  contraction  of  a  progressive  muscular  atro- 
phy. I  was  saturated  with  the  atmosphere  of  organic 
nerve  conditions  clinically  as  well  as  in  the  work  I 
had  been  doing.  It  struck  terror  to  my  heart  despite 
the  fact  that  I  had  often  been  so  worn  as  to  have 
other  muscles  quiver,  but  I  never  before  had  known 
the  strange  Incomprehensible  feeling  of  desolation 
and  danger.  There  was  no  one  I  could  ask  to  come 
to  me  save  my  nurse  friend.  I  wrote  and  also  tele- 
graphed, asking  her  to  come  on  a  definite  train  Sat- 
urday afternoon,  but  giving  no  time  for  an  answer. 
I  felt  that  I  could  brook  no  delay.  Saturday  fore- 
noon I  worked  with  my  secretary,  bringing  every- 
thing into  final  shape.  Just  before  I  started  in  the 
boat  for  the  main  land  to  meet  the  train  I  tried  to 
give  her  a  final  paragraph,  but  after  stumbling  about 
in  my  mind  as  to  its  proper  phrasing,  I  said,  "Never 
mind  that  is  all,  finish  your  typewritten  copy,  put  the 

MSS.  all  neatly  together  In  proper  sequence,  pack  up 

60 


AUTOBIOGRAPHY  OF  A  NEURASTHENE 

all  these  books  ready  to  be  sent  back  and  have  neither 
book  nor  paper  in  evidence  upon  my  return."  Then 
I  wearily  walked  to  the  water's  edge,  stepped  Into  the 
boat,  and  the  boatman  took  up  his  oars  and  pulled 
across  the  Sound.  All  was  beauty  about  me,  every- 
thing was  full  of  the  joy  of  life,  but  I  could  not  feel 
It.  I  knew  it  was  all  there,  that  everything  was  just 
the  same,  but  I  had  neither  part  nor  parcel  in  It. 
I  was  glad  my  work  was  done,  simply  because  I  could 
not  strive  any  longer. 

We  reached  the  main  land  and  I  waited  at  the  sta- 
tion for  the  train  I  had  specified.  Upon  its  arrival 
I  closely  scanned  every  figure  and  face,  looking  long 
after  there  was  a  reasonable  hope,  and  when  I  found 
my  friend  had  not  come  It  seemed  tO'  me  that  I  could 
no  longer  endure.  I  felt  like  a  rat  caught  In  a  trap. 
There  was  no  way  out,  and  I  had  looked  forward  to 
unburdening  myself  to  her  feeling  that  her  experience, 
training  and  unusual  fund  of  common  sense  would 
enable  her  to  say  something  comforting  or  suggest 
what  I  should  do.  There  was  nothing  to  do  but  to 
patiently  endure.  I  went  back  to  the  Island  glad  of 
the  presence  of  my  servants  and  secretary,  but  I  did 
not  impose  my  burden  upon  them.  Horror-stricken 
as  I  was,  helpless  as  I  felt,  I  could  not  impose  upon 
their  youth  and  Inexperience  my  mental  anguish. 

The  next  morning  I  asked  them  If  they  could  take 

the  responsibility  of  putting  the  house  to  rights,  pack- 

6ii 


AUTOBIOGRAPHY  OF  A  NEURASTHENE 

ing  belongings  and  shutting  it  up.    They  assured  me 

that  it  would  all  be  done  as  I  wished.     I  then  tried 

to  pack  my  tnmk.    All  my  life  I  had  served  my  own 

needs  and  the  additional  horror  I  felt  when  I  could 

not  lift  an  article  to  place  it  in  the  trunk,  could  not 

stand,  seemed  more  than  could  be  endured.     Such  a 

sense  of  shame  I  felt  when  I  had  tO'  call  my  secretary 

and  ask  her  to  pack  it  for  me.     She  was  untravelled 

and  had  not  the  slightest  conception  of  how  a  trunk 

should  be  packed.    I  sat  down  on  the  floor  by  the  side 

of  it  and  laboriously  directed  the  doing  of  what  had 

always  been  a  pleasure  and  pastime. 

In  the  Sunday  evening's  sunset  glow  the  boatman 

took  me  and  my  belongings  to  the  station  on  the  main 

land  and  put  me  on  the  train.    Arriving  in  the  City  I 

went  to  a  hotel  where  a  friend  permanently  resided. 

I  had  telephoned  her  to  secure  me  a  room.    She  tried 

to  reassure  me,  but  her  words  brought  no  comfort. 

The  next  morning  after  my  breakfast  I  went  to  my 

office  and  looked  up  the  addresses  of  my  neurological 

friends.     I  selected  the  names  and  addresses  of  three 

well  known  men.     One  has  long  since  gone  beyond 

the  other  two  are  living.    I  reached  my  decision  as  to 

the  one  I  should  consult  by  a  process  of  elimination 

and,  save  for  a  brief  time  to  which  I  shall  refer  later 

on,  I  have  never  regretted  my  decision.    I  went  to  his 

office  and  sent  in  my  card.     He  saw  me  as  soon  as 

possible,  and  in  advance  of  other  patients.     I  knew 

62 


AUTOBIOGRAPHY  OF  A  NEURASTHENE 

him,  but  not  In  any  Intimate  sense.  I  told  him  all 
this  tale  of  woe,  of  my  past  life,  of  the  blows  received 
upon  my  head  at  the  hands  of  insane  patients,  of  a 
sunstroke  and  overwork  with  much  responsibility 
immediately  following,  answered  all  his  questions, 
and  when  I  felt  that  I  had  laid  bare  my  soul  to  the 
professional  confessor,  when  my  heart  had  been  ex- 
amined and  my  pulse  felt,  he  looked  at  me  quizlcally 
and  said,  "The  trouble  with  you,  doctor,  is  that  you 
have  sprained  your  brain."  Well,  even  though  I  had, 
and  an  eminent  authority  had  told  me  so,  the  outlook 
was  not  so  hopeless  because  of  his  cheerful  optimism 
and  his  kindly  humor.  He  took  a  specimen  of  my 
blood,  told  me  what  I  was  to  do,  prescribed  for  me, 
and  told  me  to  report  the  following  day  but  one.  I  left 
him  reassured  although  Inadequate,  and  returned  to 
the  hotel  for  a  day  or  two  until  the  return  of  the  ser- 
vants. His  directions  were  absolutely  obeyed.  Upon 
my  return  after  the  morning  greeting  and  a  question 
or  two  he  said,  "I  examined  that  bit  of  gore  you  left 
the  other  day,  and  I  thought  It  was  Croton  water." 

The  secretary  and  servants  came  home  and  my 
apartment  was  opened.  After  a  few  days  I  discharged 
all  save  one  to  keep  the  apartment  In  order  wait  upon 
the  door,  and  resumed  my  work. 

Meanwhile  I  had  for  the  time  permanently  placed 
myself  in  one  of  the  best  of  the  City  hotels  by  my 
physician's  suggestion  and  desire.     "You  need  to  see 

63 


AUTOBIOGRAPHY  OF  A  NEURASTHENE 

a  different  side  of  life".  Dear  me,  I  had  never  seen 
anything  but  grind,  sickness  and  suffering,  had  never 
known  want,  but  had  never  known  what  it  was  to  be 
free  from  perpetual  struggle  for  the  wherewithal. 
There  had  been  storm  and  stress  always,  no  peaceful 
anchorage,  but  I  never  lost  courage.  The  hotel  life 
was  in  lighter  vein,  offsetting  the  tragedies  of  the  con- 
scientious physician's  life.  Work  proceeded  wearily 
enough,  but  I  managed  to  do  it  and  gradually  grew 
stronger.  After  three  months  I  went  back  to  the 
house  and  home  keeping  keeping  up  as  well  my  pro- 
fessional w^ork.  Promptly  upon  this  change  came  a 
most  appalling  attack  of  grippe.  This  was  for  years 
thereafter  a  constantly  recurring  experience  and  kept 
me  with  lowered  vitality  nearly  all  of  the  time. 

I  had  always  known  interesting,  brainy  people  and 
had  many  warm  friends  among  them.  At  this  junc- 
ture there  were  several  men  with  keen,  intellectual 
minds  among  the  scientific  people  I  knew.  I  saw 
m.uch  of  them,  and  my  restless,  active,  daring  brain 
was  stimulated  to  the  highest  point  of  activity.  Scien- 
tific experimental  work  was  begun  which  I  never  had 
strength  to  finish.  Others  have  taken  up  the  same  line 
of  work  and  brought  it  to  a  satisfactory  conclusion, 
mine  remains  only  a  bit  of  wreckage  on  life's  tem- 
pestuous sea. 

My  physician  believed  most  thoroughly  in  exercise 
and  I  was  directed  to  take  bicycle  lessons,  and  as  soon 

64 


AUTOBIOGRAPHY  OF  A  NEURASTHENE 

as  possible  got  out  into  the  open.  Here  is  where  mis- 
takes are  apt  to  be  made  in  the  care  of  neurasthenic 
patients.  Had  I  been  a  neurasthene  by  reason  of  im- 
perfect chemical  changes  due  to  overindulgence,  had 
I  had  had  habits  other  than  those  of  work  and  in- 
sufficient eating,  in  a  word,  had  I  been  toxic  instead 
of  exhausted,  and  prone  to  coddle  myself,  a  symp- 
tomatic instead  of  an  essential  neurasthene,  the  advice 
would  have  been  good.  He  did  not  know  me  well, 
and  a  physician  who  sees  much  of  functional  neuroses 
is  apt  to  becom.e  very  skeptical  in  his  estimate  of  char- 
acter, and  I  have  a  habit  of  always  appearing  at  my 
best  in  the  presence  of  an  intelligent  and  congenial 
personality.  At  any  rate,  I  was  told  to  take  lessons 
and  ride.  I  obeyed  although  I  fell  off  my  wheel  from 
sheer  exhaustion  again  and  again.  The  result  was 
disastrous.  I  should  have  been  counselled  to  spend 
every  hour  not  needed  for  my  duties  in  a  hammock, 
preferably  out  of  doors.  But  this  was  impracticable 
in  the  city  and  in  the  apartments  in  which  I  was  living. 

The  spring  following  the  "spraining  of  mv  brain'' 
I  began  doing  very  arduous  and  responsible  dispen- 
sarv  work,  teaching  clinically  at  the  same  time.  I 
moved  into  a  house  from  the  apartment,  which  meant 
greater  stress  and  strain  on  my  part,  although  giving 
me  the  comforts  and  pleasure  in  my  surroundings  to 
which  I  had  always  been  accustomed. 

These  changes  were  made  in  the  interest  of  pro- 

65 


AUTOBIOGRAPHY  OF  A  NEURASTHENE 

fessional  advancement.  I  threw  myself  into  my  work 
and  studies  with  an  abandon  of  interest.  Untoward 
happenings  distress,  depress  and  disturb  me  most 
keenly  always,  but  they  also  arouse  my  fighting  in- 
stincts. This  tim.e  was  no  exception,  but  I  did  not 
reckon  with  my  limited  reserve  of  stored  up  energy. 
While  there  was  replacement,  it  was  not  sufficient  to 
stand  the  physical,  mental  and  particularly  financial 
strain  of  a  life  like  mine.  I  had  been  shaken  to  the 
foundation  by  these  untoward  happenings,  my  trust 
and  confidence  in  my  fellow  beings  had  been  destroy- 
ed. When  I  told  all  the  story  to  my  physician,  know- 
ing how  much  it  had  had  to  do  with  my  utter  break, 
he  looked  at  me  gravely  and  asked,  "Do  you  mean  to 
tell  me  doctor,  that  you  believe  and  trust  the  people 
about  you  that  you  have  faith  in  human  nature?" 
"Why,  doctor,"  I  said,  "if  I  did  not  have  faith  in 
human  nature,  if  I  did  not  trust  others,  I  could  not 
live."  I  had  lived  long  enough  to  know  life,  but  I 
did  not.  I  learned  lessons  then  which  have  left  an 
indelible  impress.  Meanwhile  I  am  aware  that  in  my 
work — nothing  else — I  lived  at  the  top  of  my  speed. 
The  active  minds  about  me  stimulated  mine  to  greater 
effort.  I  was  happy  in  my  work  and  in  it  I  forgot  my 
sensitive  aching  body  and  the  hard  blows  life  had 
rained  upon  me.  I  cared  nothing  for  food  and  took 
no  pleasure.  My  patients  received  my  utmost  devo- 
tion.    I  have  often  been  told  that  I  spoilt  them  by 

66 


AUTOBIOGRAPHY  OF  A  NEURASTHENE 

my  devotion.  Perhaps  I  have,  but  they  are  my  family 
and  my  friends.  I  have  none  other,  and  science  is  my 
mistress. 

Following  my  convalescence  from  the  attack  of 
grippe  referred  to,  I  did  not  see  my  physician  in  that 
capacity  for  over  a  year,  nor  did  I  tell  him  of  the 
extra  work  I  was  taking  on.  I  do  not  know  why,  but 
I  am  not  sure  but  that  I  felt  he  would  discourage  me 
and  I  simply  had  to  do  it.  The  impelling  force  with- 
in me,  which  is  always  driving  me  at  full  speed,  would 
not  down.  To  me  it  is  infinitely  better  to  wear  than 
to  rust.  Inactivity  is  stagnation.  As  I  write  these 
pages,  I  am  living  at  top  speed  and  white  heat.  Is  it 
good  for  me?  That  depends  upon  what  we  regard 
as  our  best  entity.  If  it  is  mind,  not  body  providing 
we  may  for  the  nonce  separate  them,  then  it  is.  Still 
I  know  perfectly  well  now  how  far  I  dare  go.  I  did 
not  then.  Even  now  I  would  not  be  awakening  neu- 
ronic memory  of  pain,  sleeplessness,  mental  anguish, 
impaired  physical  strength.  If  I  had  not  a  purpose 
in  It  not  only  the  one  named  In  the  first  pages,  but 
another  and  a  better  one,  to  show  if  possible  that  a 
life  may  be  usefully  spent  even  though  tremendously 
handicapped,  and  that  happiness  and  content  may  be 
secured  though  one  may  only  walk  In  the  busy  arena 
of  life  through  the  medium  of  books  and  one  or  two 
friends.  Social  functions  always  palled  upon  me.  The 
next  morning  I  v/as  sure  to  feel  a  sense  of  disgust  and 

67 


AUTOBIOGRAPHY  OF  A  NEURASTHENE 

repletion,  If  I  may  so  express  it.  Not  so  a  quiet  chat, 
or  even  silence  with  a  congenial  friend.  I  like  the 
charm  of  people,  their  manysided  repartee  and  sword 
play,  the  scenario  of  brilliant  social  occasions,  the  lit 
of  the  music,  and  the  poetry  of  beautiful  dancing,  but 
more  than  a  glimpse  of  it  is  sure  to  leave  me  with  a 
sense  of  disgust.  I  think  this  has  almost  always  been 
so.  It  is  not  true  of  the  quiet  fireside  talks,  because  I 
do  not  Invite  Into  my  own  environment  other  than 
congenial  souls.  Yes !  there  is  a  loss.  I  realize  that, 
but  not  so  great  a  loss  as  there  would  be,  if  I  spent  my 
time  In  vainly  regretting  an  undue  and  unjustifiable 
expenditure  of  precious  nerve  energy  from  the  effect 
of  attending  functions,  whether  social  or  for  the  pur- 
pose of  amusement.  Work  was  and  is  second  nature. 
It  meant  not  only  the  means  of  living,  but  life  the 
power  to  do  and  to  be. 


68 


CHAPTER  SIX 

'To  his  capable  Ears  Silence  zvas  Music  from  the 
Holy  Spheres," 

Keats,  Exdymion. 
'^Nature  compensates  those  whose  world  is  restrict- 
ed with  an  ability  for  Concentration  and  Intensity  of 
Effort  of  which  the  average  Person  is  ignorant." 

IN  less  than  two  years  of  seeking  the  services  of 
my  physician  the  first  time  I  was  again  in 
need.  I  had  worked  hard  but  successfully, 
and  had  not  worr}^  and  financial  strain, 
caused  in  this  instance  by  the  dishonest}^  of 
others  come  into  my  life,  I  might  possibly  have  been 
spared  the  final  crash.  But — Kismet — it  was  not  to 
be.  I  did  not  for  a  long  time  consult  my  physician. 
I  had  a  feeling  that  I  must  not  trespass  upon  his  busy 
moments,  for  I  knew  how  necessary  it  was  to  use 
one's  energy  for  remunerative  work,  and  his  cour- 
tesy to  me  in  these  ways  had  been  of  the  finest.  At 
the  time  I  was  taking  care  of  several  physician  pa- 
tients, as  I  almost  always  am,  in  this  instance  all 
men,  as  well  as  the  several  members  of  a  physician's 
family  besides  my  clinical  work  without  money  or 
price,  and  I  knew  exactly  what  it  meant.    Finally  the 

69 


AUTOBIOGRAPHY  OF  A  NEURASTHENE 

father  of  two  young  women  patients  in  whom  I  was 
much  interested,  who  saw  my  great  need,  urgently 
advised  me  to  ask  the  doctor's  advice  again.  I  sum- 
moned up  my  courage  and  went  once  more  to  see  him. 
Again  he  put  forth  every  effort  to  save  me  from  ab- 
solute disaster,  but  the  weary  days  lengthened  from 
May  into  June,  until  one  day  I  was  told  that  I  need 
not  come  to  him  again,  that  he  would  come  to  me 
and  that  I  should  spare  myself  every  effort. 

I  was  in  constant  and  severe  pain.  There  was  not 
a  nerve  trunk  but  cried  out  night  and  day  with  the 
anguish  of  it  all.  The  sense  of  cerebral  and  spinal 
exhaustion  was  extreme,  and  to  make  It  all  worse 
there  was  congestion  of  the  sensory  cortex  which  made 
me  intolerant  of  the  vibrations  of  light  and  sound, 
in  fact — the  external  world — but  I  could  not  get 
away  from  them.  Had  it  not  been  for  the  financial 
losses  to  which  I  have  just  referred,  I  could  have 
stopped  before  it  was  too  late — perhaps.  At  this  time 
I  seemed  to  never  sleep,  the  mental  and  physical  an- 
guish were  too  great,  my  eyes  were  ever  ready  to  fill 
with  tell-tale  tears,  my  nights  were  spent  in  weep- 
ing and  my  days  in  hard  w^ork,  giving  to  others  In 
trouble  all  I  had  of  strength  and  courage.  Yes !  I 
know  it  was  wrong^ — I  did  not  then.  Life  has  had  to 
teach  it  to  me.  I  had  my  own  Sinai  to  climb  before  I 
learned  it.     Who  does  not?     No  one  profits  by  the 

70 


AUTOBIOGRAPHY  OF  A  NEURASTHENE 

experience  of  others.  Generations  and  generations 
come  and  go,  but  each  and  every  individual  must 
learn  their  own  lesson. 

There  was  constantly  the  sensation  of  hot  blood 
pouring  into  my  right  ear  at  this  time  and  its  lobe 
would  become  very  red  in  marked  contrast  to  my  face 
which  was  so  white,  that  on  several  occasions  medical 
men  of  my  acquaintance  had  exclaimed  when  they 
saw  me,  "Good  God!  Doctor,  how  white  you  are." 
I  could  not  seem  to  get  over  my  persistent  anaemia. 
This  sensation  in  my  ear  was  most  trying  and  often, 
in  adjusting  myself  to  the  needs  of  my  patients  in 
making  examinations  or  otherwise,  it  was  so  extreme 
that  It  seemed  to  me  nothing  could  keep  the  circula- 
tion within  bounds,  that  it  must  break  through  the 
enclosing  walls  of  blood  vessels  and  surrounding  tis- 
sues. I  was  exposed  at  this  time,  both  by  the  nature 
of  my  professional  work  and  the  city-w^alled  environ- 
ment of  my  home,  to  the  stress  and  strain  of  constant 
noise.  The  effect  was  almost  maddening,  but  I  could 
not  get  away  from  it  and  continue  my  work.  My 
Puritan  and  Scotch  ancestry  must  always  be  remem- 
bered and  also  my  early  training  in  connection  with 
my  Casablanca-like  treading  of  the  burning  deck. 
Had  I  done  differently,  it  w^ould  not  have  been  my- 
self, but,  oh  the  pity  of  it  all,  I  sometimes  think.  This, 
however,  is  In  my  moments  of  self-indulgence  and 
coddling,  which  are  rare  indeed,  still  they  come.    I  do 

71 


AUTOBIOGRAPHY  OF  A  NEURASTHENE 

not  pretend  toi  know  what  all  this  life  means,  but  I 
cannot  believe  it  means  to  simply  think  of  self.  If, 
however,  disregard  of  self  means  creating  conditions 
which  are  prejudicial  to  others,  then  it  is  the  most 
wrong  and  selfish  course  of  conduct  one  can  pursue. 
I  think  I  can  say  with  honesty  that  no  one  has  suf- 
fered because  oif  my  condition,  save  my  faithful  and 
overworked  physician,  and  he  is  gracious  enough  to 
say  that  he  has  not  felt  it  in  that  way.  My  mother  and 
family  friends  were  never  told.  They  lived  nearly 
two  thousand  miles  away  and  knew  only  what  I  chose 
to  tell. 

Prior  to  the  time  of  "spraining  my  brain,"  I  had 
a  very  severe  attack  of  neuritis  involving  my  right 
arm,  and  had  to  give  up  the  use  of  my  pen  for  fully 
a  year.  My  dear  mother  used  to  send  me  by  my  sister 
this  message,  "I  do  hope  you  will  be  able  to  write 
before  long,  for  the  typewritten  letters  do  not  sound 
like  you."  To  this  day  this  is  true,  that  the  presence 
of  a  stenographer  disturbs  the  poise  and  rhythm  of 
my  thought  processes  to  such  an  extent  that  work 
done  in  that  way  is  always  most  unsatisfactory,  unless 
It  be  simply  a  business  letter.  This  moment  I  am  re- 
cording this  story  with  my  own  pen,  as  I  do  all  of  my 
writing  even  from  a  hundred  or  two  to  eight  hundred 
or  more  pages.  My  mother  was  simply  told  that  I 
had  overtired  my  arm  and  hand — she  was  not  told 

what  I  am  laying  bare  to  the  world.     Nor  were  my 

72 


AUTOBIOGRAPHY  OF  A  NEURASTHENE 

friends.  My  patients  saw  me  from  day  to  day,  and 
as  they  not  only  accepted  but  sought  my  services,  I 
evidently  did  not  fail  them  in  their  need.  This  is 
true,  that  I  have  not  only  held,  but  increased  my  prac- 
tice and  income,  despite  my  handicap,  but  at  the  ex- 
pense of  myself. 

At  the  same  time  that  the  conditions  detailed  in 
regard  to  pain,  sleeplessness,  congestion  of  my  sensory 
cortex,  with  profound  circulatory  disturbances  and 
the  sensation  of  hot  blood  pouring  into  my  ear  with 
great  weakness  especially  of  right  side,  I  had  a  con- 
stantly recurring  dream  out  of  which  I  always  waken- 
ed in  a  condition  of  terror  and  which  left  me  shaken 
and  trembling  for  hours  dreading  with  a  nameless 
dread  to  go  to  sleep  again.  This  was  of  a  mad  cat 
gnawing  at  my  head  always  at  the  one  spot  and  that 
directly  over  the  middle  lobe  of  the  right  half  of  my 
brain.  Why  a  mad  cat  I  do  not  know  any  more  than 
I  can  understand  why  a  medical  man,  also  a  neuras- 
thene  should  have  a  dream  of  a  vampire  fastening  it- 
self upon  him  at  the  base  of  the  brain,  nor  why  that 
vampire  should  take  the  form  and  features  of  a  medi- 
cal man  of  his  acquaintance.  In  both  instances  the 
distress  was  great.  While  I  had  no  penchant  for  cats 
and  had  been  told  in  a  laughing  conversation  by  one 
of  my  scientific  friends  that  he  could  conceive  nothing 
in  common  with  mine  and  the  feline  nature,  still  I  did 
not  dislike  them.     I  had  owned  two  in  the  course  of 

73 


AUTOBIOGRAPHY  OF  A  NEURASTHENE 

my  life.  The  one  Daniel  Deronda  and  the  other 
Benjamin  Franklin,  but  their  care  and  petting  had 
always  been  left  to  the  servants. 

There  was  left  me  for  several  years  an  utter  horror 
at  the  presence  of  a  cat.  I  did  not  need  to  be  told 
that  there  was  one  in  the  house,  I  knew  it  instinctively. 
No  I  I  cannot  say  how  in  other  words  than  I  have,  a 
nameless  indescribable  horror  and  terror.  Luckily 
there  was  no  opportunity  of  giving  way  to  this  feel- 
ing, but  I  never  lost  it  entirely  until  I  became  the  wel- 
come and  honored  guest  on  occasional  "week  ends"  at 
the  home  of  friends  and  patients  as  well.  I  had  taken 
care  of  three  generations  in  this  family  and  they 
endeared  themselves  to  me  In  many  ways.  Among 
the  household  pets  were  two  beautiful  tiger  cats, 
"Flossie"  and  "Billie",  the  latter  christened  Wil- 
liam Napoleon  by  the  eldest  daughter  whose 
sunny  presence  has  often  been  good  for  me. 
These  cats  were  of  such  goodly  proportions  that  when 
lying  before  the  immense  fire  place  of  the  noble  draw- 
ing room,  they  almost  gave  the  appearance  of  a 
hearth-rug.  They  were  enjoyable  in  every  way  and  I 
shall  never  forget  our  merriment  and  delight  over 
their  catnip  "jag."  It  was  inimitable.  So  intimately 
were  they  associated  with  the  family  that  they  were 
permitted  to  perch  upon  the  backs  of  the  chairs  about 
the  table  in  the  dining  room  at  meal  time.  Billie  was 
the  especial  favorite  of  his  mistress,  the  eldest  daugh- 

74 


AUTOBIOGRAPHY  OF  A  NEURASTHENE 

ter,  Flossie  of  her  intimate  girl  friend  and  oftentime 
guest.  Both  Billie  and  Flossie  had  the  most  engaging 
habit  of  laying  a  detaining  paw  on  one's  shoulder, 
arm,  hand,  or  cheek  even,  when  a  choice  bit  of  food 
was  being  conveyed  to  one's  mouth  at  meal  time. 
They  were  simply  irresistible  and  I  soon  found  that  I 
too  wanted  to  pet  and  feed  them.  The  elemental  in 
my  nature  responded  to  that  in  theirs.  Their  requests 
were  preferred  so  simply  and  gently  that  it  was  diffi- 
cult to  refuse,  as  ever  and  anon  we  all  had  to,  when 
the  head  of  the  house  had  one  of  his  moods  as  to  the 
perfect  fitness  of  things  and  the  implicit  obedience  of 
his  family.  For  the  most  part  he  was  oblivious  by 
reason  of  his  manv  business  and  other  interests.  One 
day  he  laughingly  said  to  me,  when  Billie  was  getting 
what  he  had  so  fascinatingly  asked:  "Doctor,  this 
family  is  spoiling  you".  But  I  guess  not.  However, 
since  miy  intimacy  with  Flossie  and  Billie  I  have  lost 
my  aversion  to  cats.  The  twain  are  such  wholesome 
cats  and  more  than  all  so  loved  and  respected.  To 
see  the  family  about  the  table  at  which  one  or  more 
guests  are  always  present  with  these  beautiful  animals 
perched  on  the  backs  of  their  accustomed  chairs,  or  if 
rebuffed  by  one,  which  rarely  happens,  making  the 
rounds  from  one  chair  to  another,  stopping  where 
they  have  reason  to  believe  they  w^ill  be  most  kindly 
treated,  is  a  beautiful  picture.  After  all  we  are  no 
better  than  they,  and  who  knows  what  a  cat  thinks. 

75 


AUTOBIOGRAPHY  OF  A  NEURASTHENE 

As  for  the  dear  old  mongrel,  part  collie,  when  he 
lays  his  nose  along  my  knees,  I  feel  that  I  have,  at 
least  one  worshipper  at  my  shrine,  and  am  always  re- 
minded of  the  saying  that  the  dog  as  he  sits  on  his 
haunches,  looking  into  the  face  of  man  with  a  look  of 
adoration,  regards  his  master  as  a  god.  Just  so  this 
collie  is  in  the  habit  of  regarding  me. 

The  last  time  I  recall  having  this  dream  was  the 
second  night  I  spent  in  Paris  and  the  one  preceding 
my  going  to  Fontainebleau.  It  was  also  the  most 
vivid  and  terrifying  of  all  my  experiences,  and  left 
so  profound  and  intolerable  an  impression  that  when 
morning  came,  I  put  the  few  things  back  I  had  re- 
moved from  my  travelling  bag,  notified  the  landlady 
that  I  should  not  want  the  room,  ordered  a  carriage, 
went  to  Cook's  office  and  secured  the  hotel  address 
at  Fontainebleau,  the  story  of  which  will  be  told  later 
on,  leaving  on  the  first  train.  At  this  juncture  almost 
thirteen  years  later,  it  gives  me  a  feeling  of  momen- 
tary terror  to  recall  that  room  and  night.  Unques- 
tionably there  was  an  increase  of  congestion  from  the 
effort  made  to  reach  Paris  from  Cologne  and  to  se- 
cure comfortable  quarters  in  the  former  city  at  mod- 
erate expense.  It  was  soon  after  this  and  while  still  at 
Fontainebleau  that  I  began  to  suffer  from  the  most 
severe  pain  in  the  right  side  of  my  head,  to  the  front 
and  over  the  cranial  vault.    This  was  so  severe  as  to 

exhaust  me  and  was  so  piercing,  boring  and  agonizing, 

76 


AUTOBIOGRAPHY  OF  A  NEURASTHENE 

that  I  could  not  dismiss  it  as  neuralgic  as  I  would  now. 
It  was  of  that  character,  but  it  indicated  a  serious 
trouble  as  time  has  shown. 

Two  years  later  the  trouble  in  my  right  ear  about 
my  mastoid  and  right  side  of  head  increased  in  sever- 
ity. The  disturbed  circulation  was  constantly  in  evi- 
dence, the  right  ear  and  right  side  of  my  face  at  times 
intensely  flushed.  I  had  had  a  vasomotor  disturbance 
ever  since  I  exhausted  that  centre  along  with  the  oth- 
ers, and  in  so  far  as  it  disturbed  my  general  cerebral 
circulation,  I  was  in  the  habit  of  dismissing  it  with 
the  flippant  statement  that  my  vasomotor  center  had 
slipped  its  trolley.  But  this  was  different  and  seemed 
to  be  a  distinct  disturbance  by  itself.  Finally  one 
evening  when  my  physician  was  paying  his  custom- 
ary visit — I  in  my  hammock  as  usual — I  told  him  of 
some  of  the  sensations  I  experienced  and  the  great 
distress  I  suffered  because  of  them.  He  asked  was 
there  any  impairment  of  hearing.  I  said  I  did  not 
know,  that  I  had  never  tested  it.  While  I  observed 
the  different  phenomena  characteristic  of  my  condi- 
tion, there  was  no  undue  dwelling  upon  them.  Life 
was  too  intent,  too  full  of  work  and  duty  to  spend 
time  in  this  way.  I  asked  him  for  his  w^atch,  as  mine 
was  upstairs,  that  I  might  test  it.  The  watch  was 
given  me  and  I  listened  carefully  first  with  the  left 
ear  and  then  with  the  right  which  had  forced  itself 
so  obtrusively  into  my  consciousness.     No,  I  said,  I 

77 


AUTOBIOGRAPHY  OF  A  NEURASTHENE 

can  detect  no  difference.  But  the  mischief  was  there 
all  the  same.  Of  course,  it  was  the  most  natural 
thing  for  the  doctor  to  regard  the  circulatory  dis- 
turbance in  and  about  my  ear  as  the  usual  neuras- 
thenic hyperasthensia,  and  later  on  when  the  hear- 
nig  began  to  perceptibly  diminish,  as  evidenced  by  the 
most  exacting  tests,  it  was  set  down  to  the  customary 
auditory  fatigue.  I  felt  that  I  knew  better,  and  after 
all  patients  have  not  only  oftentimes  a  very  much 
better  idea  of  existing  conditions  than  their  phy- 
sicians, but  have  contrary  to  the  usual  attitude  of  the 
latter  certain  rights  even  though  patients.  It  seemed 
very  strange  to  me  that  this  dear  good  patient  doctor 
of  mine  could  not  understand  exactly  what  I  suf- 
fered and  the  extent  of  disability  which  I  recognized. 
But  he  did  not.  However,  it  made  no  difference  in 
my  feeling  of  trust  and  confidence,  for  I  had  been 
guided  through  such  tempestuous  seas  and  over  dan- 
ger lurking  shoals,  as  to>  be  very  grateful,  and  while 
longing  to  be  well  and  to  get  rid  of  my  distressing 
symptoms,  I  was  after  all,  content  for  life  though 
handicapped  was  rich  in  its  relation  tO'  knowledge  and 
to  my  work.  There  was  less  physical  pleasure  in 
radiant  mornings  and  evening  time  than  now,  while 
my  lack  of  physical  strength  kept  me  from  an  out 
of  door  life  or  from  living  any  differently  than  in 
the  quiet  of  my  home,  when  the  day's  duties  were 
ended.     Still,  there  were  moments  when  his  utter  dis- 

78 


AUTOBIOGRAPHY  OF  A  NEURASTHENE 

belief  In  any  trouble  with  my  precious  sense  of  hear- 
ing gave  me  a  sense  of  Injustice  which  hurt  and 
rankled.  But  some  humorous  remark  would  appeal 
to  the  like  quality  In  myself  and  I  would  let  the  mat- 
ter drop,  although  as  time  went  on,  the  tinnitus  or 
confusion  of  sounds  became  almost  Insupportable.  As 
indicated,  I  was  during  these  years  exposed  to  almost 
incessant  noise  which  unquestionably  tended  to  the 
exhaustion  of  my  sound  centre.  The  blood  seethed 
and  boiled  as  though  in  a  caldron  over  a  red  hot  fur- 
nace fire,  bells  rang,  cymbals  clashed,  and  there  was 
the  constant  undercurrent  of  roaring  as  In  the  sea 
shell.  These  might  all  have  been  the  usual  neuras- 
thenic symptoms,  but  they  were  not.  There  was 
great  pain  In  my  ear,  deep  in  all  along  the  tract  of 
the  auditory  nerve  and  the  entire  mastoid  area  was 
exquisitely  sensitive  as  was  the  entire  right  side  of  my 
head  and  sometimes  the  left  as  well.  Even  so,  my 
fears  of  disaster  were  not  recognized  and  several 
times  when  I  had  made  a  more  strenuous  and  pitiful 
appeal  than  usual,  he  teasingly  whispered — "Hys- 
teria." My  feeling  of  hurt  and  indignity  was  ex- 
treme, I  felt  I  could  never  forgive  him,  then  there 
would  come  the  memory  of  all  he  had  done  for  me, 
all  he  had  meant  for  it  is  no  small  thing  to  go  down 
to  the  depths  of  such  utter  exhaustion  of  supreme 
centres  as  I  had  done,  and  the  one  w^ho  had  walked 


79 


AUTOBIOGRAPHY  OF  A  NEURASTHENE 

through  that  valley  and  shadow,  was  not  one  to  be 
vexed  with  because  of  a  laughing  remark. 

Time  slipped  by  the  trouble  Increased,  I  knew 
neither  peace  nor  comfort  night  nor  day.  There 
remained  all  the  usual  pain  of  nerve  trunks  of 
peripheral  nerve  endings,  the  exquisite  sensitiveness 
of  body,  the  inability  to  bear  a  touch  heavier  than  the 
brush  of  a  butterfly's  wing,  the  insomnia,  lack  of 
strength,  the  recurrence  of  depression  of  spirits,  the 
Inability  to  use  my  brain  at  my  study  and  writing  as  I 
wished  (I  used  it  much  of  the  time  however),  but 
this  trouble  with  my  auditory  centre  and  nerve  of 
which  I  never  lost  sight.  I  could  not.  It  was  from 
five  to  six  years  after  my  complete  crash  and  subse- 
quent to  an  acute  illness  that  there  was  an  accentuation 
of  all  the  symptoms.  The  confusion  of  sounds  in- 
creased, the  disturbed  circulation  was  not  only  evi- 
denced by  my  senses,  but  to  the  onlooker  by  the  crim- 
soning of  my  ear  and  the  same  side  of  my  face.  This 
unilateral  flushing  was  often  very  marked  emphasiz- 
ing the  pallor  of  the  opposite  side.  My  hearing  con- 
tinued to  diminish  while  the  temperature  of  the  entire 
right  side  of  my  head  as  well  as  of  my  mastoid  area 
was  perceptibly  increased  to  sense  of  touch.  A  sur- 
face thermometer  was  not  used.  While  I  regard  all 
measures  of  exact  observation  and  record  as  of  abso- 
lute necessity  in  medical  work,  and  use  them,  I  often 

recall  a  talk  with  my  preceptor  in  the  very  first  of  my 

80 


AUTOBIOGRAPHY  OF  A  NEURASTHENE 

medical  life.  I  was  telling  him  of  a  patient  to  the 
end  of  having  his  counsel,  when  I  spoke  with  some 
emphasis  of  the  thermometric  reading.  At  this  mo- 
ment I  do  not  recall  the  case,  save  that  I  seem  to  re- 
member it  as  one  of  those  where  the  experienced  phy- 
sician would  recognize  the  little  value  of  the  ther- 
mometric reading  as  compared  with  the  entire  clinical 
picture.  He  said,  "Doctor,  do  not  place  too  much 
importance  upon  your  thermometer.  There  are  so 
many  other  clinical  conditions  to  receive  recognition 
and  which  tell  so  much  more  of  truth."  By  his 
analysis  of  the  case  and  its  symptoms  w^ith  his  accus- 
tomed clearness  and  force  of  diction,  I  was  taught  a 
clinical  lesson  that  has  served  me  wxll  in  all  my  years 
of  work.  Exactness  and  precision  in  observation  are 
essential,  but  successful  medicine  means  so  much 
more. 

The  entire  clinical  picture  of  this  trouble  in  and 
about  my  right  ear  never  failed  to  say  to  me  that 
there  was  no  question  of  a  simple  circulatory  hyperes- 
thesia with  auditory  fatigue.  The  distress  increased 
to  such  an  extent  that  I  felt  I  must  have  some  advice 
in  relation  to  it  and  went  to  my  oculist  w^ho  had  a  few 
years  before  devoted  himself  to  the  care  of  both  eye 
and  ear,  one  of  the  most  absurd  specialties  in  medi- 
cine, for  if  the  ear  should  be  specialized  it  should  pre- 
ferably be  done  with  nose  and  throat  because  of  their 

intimate  anatomical  and  physiological  connection.  Of 

8i 


AUTOBIOGRAPHY  OF  A  NEURASTHENE 

this  I  am  confident  that  to  no  one  should  the  intimate 
anatomy,  physiology  and  pathology  of  the  ear  be  re- 
garded as  so  absolutely  an  essential  part  of  their  fund- 
amental grounding  as  to  the  neurologist  and  psychiat- 
rist. The  psychic  symptoms  of  aural  disturbances  are 
tremendous.  A  medical  man  whom  I  knew  by  sight 
only,  but  of  whom  I  knew  a  good  deal,  constantly 
evidenced  great  irritability  irascibility  and  mental  con- 
fusion as  the  result  of  a  middle  ear  trouble.  His  symp- 
toms at  times  were  so  extreme  as  to  lead  to  the  remark 
"of  course  he  is  crazy".  At  such  times  he  was  pretty 
nearly  unbalanced,  threatened  to  kill  himself,  got 
very  angry  and  abusive  and  was  altogether  an  objec- 
tionable person.  At  other  times  he  was  quiet  and 
gentlemanly.  So  long  as  no  untoward  act  is  commit- 
ted, his  peculiarities  will  receive  no  other  recognition 
than  a  pitying  remark  as  to  his  suffering  and  the 
cause  for  it.  That  man  I  was  sorry  for  although  his 
nature  was  such  as  to  make  no  appeal  to  me  whatever. 
But  I  have  some  Idea  of  the  torture  he  suffered,  al- 
though my  experience  has  not  changed  my  mental 
characteristics  or  interfered  with  the  integrity  of  my 
intelligence.  Yes!  This  exception — If  I  am  exposed 
to  constant  and  exhausting  noise,  It  Is  difficult  not  to 
be  irritable,  or  if  too  exacting  demands  are  made  upon 
my  time  and  energies;  while  the  subsequent  exhaustion 
which  Is  extreme,  is  with  difficulty  recovered  from  in 

the  limited  time  at  my  command. 

82 


AUTOBIOGRAPHY  OF  A  NEURASTHENE 

I  sought  my  oculist,  because  I  could  not  endure  the 
thought  of  going  to  a  stranger  and  telling  all  my 
story  again  and  more  than  that  the  personal  qualities 
of  the  physician  whose  professional  advice  I  seek 
means  so  much  to  me  that  given  several  physicians  of 
practically  the  same  attainments  I  always  select  the 
one  whose  honesty  of  purpose  and  conduct,  single- 
minded  devotion  to  the  best  In  his  profession  and  life 
sets  him  above  his  fellows.  He  knew  of  all  my  dis- 
asters. I  had  told  them  from  time  to  time  seriously 
enough  for  him  to  understand,  but  always  concluding 
with  some  joking  or  flippant  remark.  What  Is  the 
use  of  crying — It  does  no  good.  We  have  to  take  of 
life  what  it  gives  us  and  on  the  rebound  from  trouble 
and  disability  there  Is  pretty  sure  to  be  some  com- 
pensation, for  that  Is  the  law  of  life.  Circumstances 
are  often  beyond  the  control  of  man,  but  conduct  Is 
in  his  powder. 

My  ear  was  carefully  put  through  Its  paces.  The 
result  confirmed  my  own.  The  hearing  was  very 
much  Impaired  for  distant  sounds  and  practically  nil 
for  the  watch  test.  The  pain  had  been  that  of  an  In- 
tense neuritis,  there  had  been  present  all  the  symptoms 
of  a  neuritis  of  the  auditory  nerve  as  well  as  in  the 
auricular  nerves.  This  trouble  dated  back  to 
the  "Spraining"  of  my  brain,  as  recorded,  for  at  that 
time  I  began  to  have  periods  of  tasting  and  smelling 
phosphorus,  which  would  last  for  several  days  then 

83 


AUTOBIOGRAPHY  OF  A  NEURASTHENE 

disappear.  I  have  seen  this  in  some  authority  set 
down  as  a  symptom  of  nerve  trouble  within  the  laby- 
rinth and  auditory  canal.  More  than  that  the  noises 
to  which  I  was  constantly  exposed  without  reserve  of 
neuronic  energy,  tired  and  exhausted  me  beyond  en- 
durance. There  was  every  reason  why  the  sound 
center  should  suffer. 

The  first  winter,  following  my  complete  crash  I 
was  returning  from  my  clinic  one  evening  in  company 
with  one  of  my  assistants  when  we  found  it  had  sud- 
denly grown  very  cold.  The  wind  blew  a  gale  and 
struck  the  right  side  of  my  face  and  right  ear  with  an 
intensity  of  cold  and  pressure  I  had  never  before  ex- 
perienced from  exposure  to  the  weather.  He  placed 
himself  between  me  and  the  wintry  blast  at  my  request 
for  I  felt  such  exposure  presaged  mischief.  That  was 
the  side  which  had  been  so  weak  all  the  previous  sum- 
mer as  to  lead  me  to  anticipate  a  facial  paralysis.  But 
paralysis,  nor  sudden,  death,  nor  yet  organic  disease, 
save  this  damaged  auditory  nerve  are  evidently  not 
to  be  my  portion.  I  have  known  the  utter  weakness 
of  all  my  right  side  from  exhaustion  of  my  left  motor 
centers,  have  received  violent  blows  on  my  head  at 
the  hands  of  insane  patients,  have  suffered  a  sun- 
stroke, a  ruptured  ankle  ligament,  an  injury  to  my 
spine  from  catching  the  heel  of  my  slipper  in  going 
down  a  flight  of  stairs,  have  been  knocked  down  by 
an  automobile  and  had  three  ribs  broken,  a  foot  con- 

84 


AUTOBIOGRAPHY  OF  A  NEURASTHENE 

tused,  suffered  from  shock,  damage  to  my  best  frock 
and  the  Ignominy  of  Injured  dignity  from  having  to 
be  picked  up  In  the  street  where  I  lay  biting  the  dust 
so  to  speak,  as  well  as  the  further  Indignity  of  having 
an  ambulance  recommended,  which  I  indignantly  re- 
fused and  ordered  a  hansom  w^hile  two  mounted 
policemen  escorted  me  to  my  apartment.  What  more 
Is  necessary  to  show  that  I  am  not  to  be  killed,  not  to 
be  paralyzed,  not  to  suffer  organic  disease,  nor  to 
have  the  Integrity  of  my  gray  miatter  interfered  with. 
It  does  seem  as  though  fate  had  preordained  my  life. 
Despite  all  my  early  training  I  believe  I  am  just  as 
much  a  fatalist  as  Is  the  Mohamedan. 

But  the  mischief  went  on  and  on,  the  congestion  in 
and  temperature  of  the  right  half  of  my  head  was 
sensibly  increased,  while  the  sensitiveness  of  my  right 
ear,  mastoid  area  and  right  side  of  my  head  and  face 
became  so  extreme  that  I  could  not  lie  upon  that  side 
and  rarely  even  now.  Down  pillows  had  to  be  sub- 
stituted for  feathers  and  the  sheerest  fabrics  for  pil- 
low slips  In  place  of  the  ordinary  muslin  or  linen.  So 
great  was  the  heat  in  my  head  that  I  had  to  turn  my 
pillow^  ten,  fifteen  or  twenty  times  a  night  to  be  com- 
fortable, according  as  to  whether  I  kept  ice  caps  on 
or  not.  Leeches  were  applied,  but  there  was  no  mid- 
dle ear  trouble,  nothing  save  the  mischief  in  the  audi- 
tory nerve.  There  w^as  not  only  cutaneous  hyperes- 
thesia, but  anesthesia  all  about  the  ear.     There  was 

85 


AUTOBIOGRAPHY  OF  A  NEURASTHENE 

also  at  one  time  the  most  excruciating  and  severe 
facial  spasm  lasting  for  days  and  because  of  which  I 
came  very  near  having  my  teeth  extracted  on  that 
side.  But  my  own  desire  to  conserve  my  anatomical 
integrity,  which  had  always  been  great  was  encour- 
aged in  this  instance,  because  my  dentist  who  had 
looked  after  such  needs  as  I  had  had  for  years  refer- 
red all  patients  requiring  the  removal  of  teeth  to  a 
surgeon  dentist  and  I  felt  that  I  could  not  for  one 
moment  allow  the  intervention  of  a  stranger  even 
though  recommended  by  one  in  whom  I  had  confi- 
dence. Time  has  shown  that  it  would  have  been  a 
mistake  to  have  had  them  removed.  I  had  had  and 
was  having  a  summer  of  great  strain,  grief  and 
anxiety.  I  had  taken  a  Queen  Anne  cottage  not  far 
from  my  city  home  in  a  secluded  and  restricted  park, 
furnished,  for  the  summer  months  and  when  domi- 
ciled had  yielded  an  assent  to  the  request  of  a  very 
dear  old  gentleman — a  patient  whom  I  knew  could 
not  long  survive  his  accumulation  of  chronic  difficul- 
ties— and  his  sister  to  spend  three  weeks  with  me  in 
my  suburban  home  in  transit  from  their  sojourn  at 
one  of  the  most  desirable  of  spring  resorts  to  their 
summer  place  in  the  White  Mountains.  My  dear 
nurse  was  in  charge  of  the  patient  and  I  felt  with  her 
to  aid  and  abet  my  effort  I  could  do  it,  have  the  quiet 
and  pure  air  of  the  country,  look  after  my  office  prac- 
tice and  at  the  same  time  carry  the  extra  financial 

86 


AUTOBIOGRAPHY  OF  A  NEURASTHENE 

burden  which  I  had  assumed  more  easily  than  with- 
out this  extra  income. 

As  the  end  of  the  three  weeks  approached  my 
patients  asked  me,  if  I  would  not  keep  them  two 
weeks  longer.  I  was  very  worn  and  hesitated,  but 
finally  consented  for  his  personal  appeal  was  very 
gracious  and  he  had  from  the  first  won  my  sympathy 
and  kindly  regard.  The  day  they  were  to  have  gone 
originally  the  nurse  fell  ill  with  a  peritoneal  inflam- 
mation, and  for  two  weeks  longer  I  had  all  three  and 
a  second  nurse  in  my  little  cottage.  At  the  end  of  the 
extra  two  weeks  the  patient  and  his  sister  left,  also  the 
nurse  attendant  upon  my  nurse.  She  had  not  been 
satisfactory  and  instead  my  nurse's  sister  came  and 
we  devoted  ourselves  to  getting  the  patient  on  her 
feet  again.  It  was  ultimately  accomplished,  but  in 
my  thought  I  attended  her  funeral  services  every 
morning  on  my  way  to  the  city  as  I  passed  the  subur- 
ban cemetery,  and  every  evening  upon  my  return. 

The  extra  strain  incident  upon  the  routine  profes- 
sional duties  in  my  city  ofHce,  the  professional  care  of 
the  patient,  the  duties  of  hostess  and  director  of  the 
house  had  been  enough,  but  the  serious  illness  of  my 
dear  nurse  and  all  its  attendant  care  and  anxiety  sap- 
ped every  bit  of  my  vitality  and  this  time  in  addition 
to  the  usual  phenomena  of  utter  exhaustion  of  nerve 
energy  was  this  excruciating  facial  spasm.  It  would 
call  me  up  standing  while  engaged  with  a  patient  or 

87 


AUTOBIOGRAPHY  OF  A  NEURASTHENE 

the  many  physicians  who  sought  my  advice  and  in- 
struction. These  latter  could  not  always  be  lied  to 
even  though  I  covered  the  right  side  of  my  face  with 
my  hand  that  the  anguish  of  pain  might  not  be 
noticed.  In  order  therefore  that  no  comment  might 
be  made  nor  anything  thought  of  it  I  flippantly  said 
that  it  was  simply  an  indication  that  I  was  indulging 
in  meditation  and  prayer.  We  can  always  better 
afford  to  laugh  at  our  physical  infirmities,  than  have 
our  little  world  pity  us.  In  my  youthful  days  I  had 
known  a  young  man  of  brilliant  mind  and  attractive 
personality  who  was  hunchbacked  from  a  spinal  con- 
dition in  earlier  life.  His  deformity  was  marked  and 
he  often  suffered  agonies  of  pain  especially  at  night. 
But  he  never  flinched  nor  lessened  his  exterior  of 
courage  and  bravery.  Sometimes  as  a  relief  to  his 
extreme  sensitiveness  regarding  his  condition  I  have 
heard  him  ask  his  closest  friend — a  man — before  a 
coterie  of  gay  young  people  if  he  knew  why  he  was  so 
misshapen,  and  without  pause  reply  that  his  mother 
let  him  fall  into  the  water  when  he  was  a  child  and 
upon  being  laid  out  to  dry,  he  warped.  He  said  this 
in  the  midst  of  a  company  of  the  gayest  of  gay  young 
people,  of  whom  I  was  one,  one  night  when  laughter 
and  merriment  was  universal.  The  laughter  died  on 
my  lips  and  tears  filled  my  eyes,  though  no  one  knew, 
at  the  pathos  of  it  all.  Just  so  I  have  turned  my  many 
disabilities  into  a  joke  and  gone  on.    It  is  much  better 

88 


AUTOBIOGRAPHY  OF  A  NEURASTHENE 

so.  Life  at  best  is  a  tragedy  and  yet  as  I  say  it,  I  see 
the  farce,  comedy,  the  melodrama,  so  keenly  that  I 
cannot  let  the  remark  stand  without  this  modification. 
And  withal  it  is  so  beautiful' — so  elementally  beauti- 
ful. 

The  troubles  of  this  summer  were  lived  through, 
although  my  winter  was  prejudiced  by  the  summer's 
stress.  The  dear  old  gentleman  died  in  the  following 
spring,  and  my  devoted  nurse  who  returned  to  him 
as  soon  as  she  was  able  cared  for  him  to  the  last  and 
in  the  absence  of  his  family  friends  administered  to 
his  last  moments  in  so  beautiful  a  way  that  her  mem- 
ory is  cherished  by  them  as  lovingly  as  by  myself. 

To  this  day  I  suffer  in  untoward  barometrical  con- 
ditions, associated  of  necessity  with  lack  of  radiance, 
from  the  most  intense  pain  within  that  auditory  canal 
and  great  sensitiveness,  even  soreness  in  all  the  ex- 
ternal parts  just  as  I  do  in  my  right  sciatic  nerve.  The 
tinnitus  never  ceases,  the  hearing  is  practically  nil,  to 
the  speaking  voice  and  entirely  to  the  watch  test.  At 
one  time  I  had  a  very  severe  attack  of  labyrinthine 
vertigo,  after  that  the  evidences  of  injury  were  more 
marked.  It  is  known  only  to  half  a  dozen  people, 
whose  intimate  association  with  me  has  led  to  its  ob- 
servance. 

That  blessed  doctor  could  not  for  a  long  time  real- 
ize it,  but  does  now  and  makes  up  not  in  sympathy 
nor  talk,  but  in  friendship  for  his  earlier  lack  of  ap- 

89 


AUTOBIOGRAPHY  OF  A  NEURASTHEKE 

preclation  of  my  condition.  He  is  in  no  sense  to 
blame,  the  combination  of  conditions  is  most  unusual, 
practically  unknown  and  nothing  would  have  saved 
me  save  a  long  and  peaceful  rest,  summers  and  win- 
ters in  beautiful  dry,  fragrant  pine  woods  or  the  latter 
in  sunny  lands  with  congenial  friends  about  me  as 
well  as  the  comforts  of  life.  These  are  things  which 
one  can  always  command  by  well  directed  effort,  but 
they  require  money.  Mine  I  had  to  work  for,  the 
daily  need  I  had  to  meet  and  one  dares  not  especially 
in  a  big  city  let  go  their  foothold  for  one  or  more 
years.  Even  had  I  done  this  there  was  no  balance 
on  my  side  to  defray  the  expense  of  those  years.  Lack 
of  ill-health  is  an  almost  universal  cause  of  poverty 
in  the  world's  history.  Poverty  is  not  mine,  but  on 
the  contrary.  Still,  had  I  given  up  all  I  can  see  would 
have  been  a  dependent  and  more  or  less  friendless  old 
age.  Instead  I  am  free,  and  should  I  drop  out  to-day, 
I  would  leave  my  sole  dependents  sufficient  without 
aught  else  to  care  for  them  the  rest  of  their  lives  for 
in  common  with  many  others  I  am  worth  more  dead 
than  alive,  but  the  fruition  of  my  hopes  is  not  far 
away.  This  bad  ear  will  be  mine  to  the  end  of  my 
days,  and  since  the  injury  sustained  to  my  head  in  the 
two  successive  attacks  of  syncope  which  I  have  re- 
corded, I  am  more  than  careful  of  my  preternaturally 
sharp  left  ear.    This  disability  in  addition  to  the  lack 

of  a  reserve  of  neuronic  energy  necessarily  restricts 

90 


AUTOBIOGRAPHY  OF  A  NEURASTHENE 

my  world,  but  I  can  honestly  say  not  my  usefulness, 
nor  on  the  other  hand  my  happiness  and  content. 
Towards  the  voices  of  my  friends  and  towards  all 
beautiful  sounds  I  turn  my  open  ear  just  as  one  should 
always  keep  the  windows  of  one's  soul  and  intelli- 
gence open  to  the  dawn,  whether  It  be  the  physical  one 
of  radiance  or  the  intellectual  one  of  truth.  This 
moment  as  I  write,  a  little  city-bred  sparrow  is  piping 
his  spring  time  matin  lay  near  the  window  towards 
which  my  appreciative  sound  center  is  turned.  Nature 
compensates  always  and  rewards  those  whose  world 
is  restricted  with  an  ability  for  concentration  and  in- 
tensity of  effort  of  which  the  average  person  is  igno- 
rant. This  ability  for  concentration  and  intensity  of 
purpose  characterized  that  greatest  of  English  poets, 
John  Milton.  For  fourteen  years  his  eye  sight  was 
falling  and  for  the  last  nineteen  years  of  his  life  he 
was  totally  blind.  Yet  these  years  were  prolific  of 
some  of  his  greatest  works,  the  famous  epics  of  "Par- 
adise Lost  and  Paradise  Regained;"  the  tragedy 
"Samson  Agonistes",  while  L' Allegro  and  II  Pense- 
roso  were  written  during  the  time  that  his  eye  sight 
was  failing.  Michel  Angelo  strove  by  Indulging  his 
solitary  tastes  to  maintain  his  central  energies  Intact 
for  art  "joining  in  no  rebellious  conspiracies  against 
the  pov/ers  that  be,  bending  his  neck  In  silence  to  the 
storm,  avoiding  pastimes  and  social  diversions  which 

might  have  called  into  activity  the  latent  sensuousness 

91 


AUTOBIOGRAPHY  OF  A  NEURASTHENE 

of  his  nature.  He  seems  to  have  purposely  sought  by 
the  seclusion  and  renunciations  of  a  life  time,  self- 
coherence,  self-concentration,  not  for  any  mean  or 
self-indulgent  spirit,  but  for  the  best  attainment  of 
his  intellectual  ideas."  These  things  are  not  possible 
when  one  is  constantly  in  evidence  and  life  would  have 
lost  much  of  its  charm  had  I  been  denied  my  lonely 
hours  on  the  heights  and  in  company  with  the  choicest 
minds  and  spirits  of  those  who  live  in  the  expression 
of  the  best  within  themselves,  whether  in  art,  music, 
science  or  literature.  In  books  which  I  love  as  a  girl 
loves  her  lovers,  "as  in  a  vial  are  preserved  the  purest 
efficacy  and  extraction  of  that  intellect  that  bred 
them."  It  is  possible  in  this  day  of  overmuch  making 
of  books  Milton  would  have  lacked  the  inspiration 
which  led  him  to  write:  "Many  a  man  lives  a  burden 
to  the  earth,  but  a  good  book  is  the  precious  life  blood 
of  a  master  spirit  embalmed  and  treasured  up  on  pur- 
pose to  a  life  beyond  life".  But  it  is  just  as  true  of  a 
good  book  to-day  as  when  he  wrote  it  and  good  books 
go  on  living  to  the  good  of  nations  and  peoples,  for 
the  revolutions  of  ages  as  he  divined  do  not  recover 
the  loss  of  a  rejected  truth.  My  veneration  for  books 
is  as  great  as  was  his,  although  I  live  in  a  different 
age.  Still  with  him  I  can  "divine  a  homicide,  yes  a 
martyrdom  in  the  spilling  or  destruction  of  the  sea- 
soned life  of  man  preserved  and  stored  up  in  books; 

while  if  it  extend  to  a  whole  impression,  whereof  the 

92 


AUTOBIOGRAPHY  OF  A  NEURASTHENE 

execution  ends  not  in  the  slaying  of  an  elemental  life, 
but  strikes  at  the  ethereal  essence,  the  break  of  reason 
itself — slays  an  immortality  rather  than  a  life." 

On  the  heights !  the  beauty  of  those  precious  mo- 
ments for  here  it  is  we  only  come  to  know  ourselves 
and  not  to  have  this  knowledge  "means  to  be  uncon- 
scious of  all  the  divine  that  throbs  in  man."  By  the 
revelation  of  the  divine  that  is  in  us  we  may  discover 
the  divine  in  others,  but  this  revelation  does  not  come 
unless  wt  give  the  godlike  in  us — the  soul,  a  chance  to 
free  itself  from  earth-bound  chains.  In  the  long, 
peaceful  quiet  hours  with  books,  in  which  I  have  great 
happiness,  there  comes  infinite  return  for  the  more 
gregarious  life  I  am  denied  for  at  even  the  slightest 
signal,  no  matter  how  inperceptible,  every  one  of  the 
gods  will  respond  for  needs  must  the  one  god  beckon 
to  another.  In  this  sordid  work-a-day  life  of  mine 
surfeited  with  pain  and  fatigue,  my  soul  would  have 
lost  its  courage,  had  it  not  been  for  the  humanitarian 
side  of  my  work.  This  same  soul  of  ours  we  are  apt 
to  relegate  for  its  whole  life  long  to  utter  darkness 
and  desolation.  Some  day  there  comes  an  awakening 
and  with  Maeterlinck  w^hose  "Inner  Beauty"  is  to  me 
inspiriting  and  uplifting,  "I  doubt  whether  anything 
in  the  world  can  beautify  a  soul  more  spontaneously, 
more  naturally,  than  the  knowledge  that  somewhere 
in  its  neighborhood  there  exists  a  pure  and  noble 

93 


AUTOBIOGRAPHY  OF  A  NEURASTHENE 

being  whom  it  can  unreservedly  love."  This  applies 
with  equal  force  to  our  love  of  and  for  humanity. 

I  often  feel  that  I  want  every  neurasthene  to  read 
these  thoughts  of  his,  for  it  seems  to  me  if  they  would> 
less  energy  would  be  expended  in  a  vicious  circle  with- 
in — "A  thought  that  is  almost  beautiful — a  thought 
that  you  speak  not,  but  that  you  cherish  with  you  at 
this  moment — will  irradiate  you  as  though  you  were  a 
transparent  vase."  That  is  what  my  patient  saw  in 
my  face.  I  knew  I  was  not  earth  bound  that  morn- 
ing. To  look  upon  life  this  way  from  within,  to 
possess  the  inner  beauty  that  shines  out  radiantly  and 
triumphantly,  simple  living  is  necessary,  and  in  no 
way  more  than  in  inviting  the  clean  cut  chemical  ac- 
tions necessary  to  health — which  is  after  all  radiance. 

In  this  ability  for  concentration  and  intensity  of 
effort  I  have  great  joy.  All  the  same  I  am  keenly 
grateful  for  the  ability  to  perceive  sounds  of  musical, 
harmonious  and  inspiring  nature  left  handed  only  and 
just  now  for  the  song  of  that  same  sparrow.  A  little 
later  and  I  shall  find  my  way  to  some  suburban  place 
for  a  week  end  where  the  robin  with  hosts  of  other 
feathered  songsters  shall  minister  to  my  needs  in  royal 
fashion  and  they  shall  never  divine  that  my  apprecia- 
tion is  after  all  but  left-handed. 


94 


CHAPTER  SEVEN 

THE  GARDEN  OF  AN  INN  AT  FONTAINEBLEU 

I  AM  distinctly  elemental  and  I  have  revelled  all 
my  life  in  the  warring  of  the  elements.  In 
the  gathering  of  the  clouds,  the  blowing  of 
the  winds  from  the  lightest  zephyr  to  the 
roar  of  mighty  blasts,  the  roll  of  the  thunder 
and  the  flashing  of  the  lightning,  I  had  always 
found  the  pleasure  which  the  elemental  man  or 
woman  feels  as  none  other,  but  never  had  they 
given  me  pain.  I  knew  no  fear  in  the  severest  electri- 
cal storms,  nor  have  I  come  to  know  fear.  I  shall 
never  forget,  however,  the  crushing  power  of  the  first 
severe  electrical  storm  I  experienced  following  upon 
exhaustion  of  my  supreme  nerve  centers.  I  was  not 
by  any  means  a  drivelling  idiot,  nor  had  I  a  distorted 
sense  of  my  relation  to  the  phenomena  of  life,  but 
I  was  incapable  of  any  sustained  mental  effort  while 
necessary  thought  for  my  personal  needs  let  alone 
that  of  the  routine  of  work  was  practically  beyond 
me.  My  physician  had  consented  that  I  should  go  to 
Europe  for  the  summer.  This  had  been  my  plan  be- 
fore I  completely  broke  down,  and  when  I  told  him 
he  gave  his  permission  believing  that  the  sea  voyage 
would  do  me  good. 

95 


AUTOBIOGRAPHY  OF  A  NEURASTHENt: 

I  was  sitting  in  the  beautiful  and  secluded  garden 
of  a  quaint  inn  near  the  Forest  of  Fontainebleau,  fur- 
nished in  keeping  with  the  time  of  Marie  Antoinette 
and  Louis  XVI.  The  hour  was  nearing  that  of  twi- 
light, the  storm  had  not  broken,  and  did  not  for  many 
hours.  Suddenly  I  became  conscious  of  a  feeling  of 
overwhelming  weight.  I  was  not  consciously  afraid, 
but  I  seemed  to  be  crushed  to  the  earth  and  wanted 
someone  near  me.  This  was  contrary  to  my  usual 
desire  and  habit,  for  I  have  always  been  a  lonely  soul 
in  the  sense  that  human  companionship  meant  prac- 
tically nothing  unless  it  was  that  of  a  definite  person- 
ality, with  mental  traits  and  personal  characteris- 
tics which  made  them  a  pleasure  and  comfort  to  me. 
These  I  have  met  but  rarely,  not  that  there  are  not 
many  such  people  in  the  world,  but  the  secluded  al- 
most isolated  life  I  have  had  to  live  for  many  years, 
in  order  tO'  keep  at  my  work  and  make  my  bread  and 
butter,  incidentally  achieving  my  professional  repu- 
tation, has  effectually  prevented  my  being  thrown  in 
contact  with  them. 

This  feeling  of  a  crushing  weight  bowing  me  to 
the  earth,  as  it  were,  and  associated  with  a  feeling  of 
dread,  lasted  until  the  breaking  of  the  storm. 

Ever  since  that  time,  now  thirteen  years  ago,  I 
have  always  known  twenty-four  to  seventy-two  or 
more  hours  beforehand  of  the  coming  of  such  a  storm. 
Sometimes  it  has  been  through  pain  in  some  one  of 

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AUTOBIOGRAPHY  OF  A  NEURASTHENE 

the  larger  nerve  trunks,  sciatic  for  example,  or  the 
branches  of  the  facial  nerve,  but  more  often  there  is 
no  pain  but  a  feeling  of  intense  restlessness,  super- 
posed upon  a  sensation  of  some  impending  disaster. 

Suddenly  there  comes  a  sense  of  peace  and  quiet 
again  either  during  waking  hours  or  upon  awaken- 
ing. When  this  feeling  is  experienced,  I  always  know 
that  I  will  find  the  direction  of  the  wind  changed, 
the  elements  descending  or  the  sky  cleared.  I  am 
much  more  conscious  of  these  elemental  disturbances 
when  In  the  country,  in  the  mountains,  by  the  ocean, 
than  in  the  city,  although  I  feel  them  keenly  there  as 
well.  As  for  an  east  wind  Mr.  Jamdyce  of  Jarn- 
dyce,  the  creation  of  that  clever  and  accurate  ob- 
server, Charles  Dickens,  with  all  his  sensitiveness  to 
an  east  wind,  could  not  appreciate  its  presence  or  Its 
coming  better  or  as  well  as  I  do.  The  influence  of 
barometric  changes  and  of  electrical  storms  precedes 
their  coming  by  varying  hours.  In  both  instances  It 
is  a  matter  of  my  physical  condition  and  resistance.  If 
I  am  overworn,  my  nutrition  Impaired,  and  subjected 
to  severe  stress  and  strain,  it  is  easier  for  the  dis- 
turbed atmospheric  conditions  to  be  transmitted,  and 
they  are  felt  therefore  a  longer  time  preceding  the 
breaking  of  the  storm  or  definite  change.  In  my 
palmiest  days  I  am  not  Influenced  so  long  before- 
hand. That  the  human  brain  though  not  proven  acts 
as  a  coherer,  I  can  readily  believe.    Certain  I  am  that 

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AUTOBIOGRAPHY  OF  A  NEURASTHENE 

under  the  influence  of  oncoming  electrical  storms  mine 
does  not  function,  i.  e.  discoheres.  Under  these  con- 
ditions the  only  thing  I  can  do'  when  I  have  gone  the 
wearied  round  of  daily  duty,  is  to  lie  down  and  go 
to  sleep.  It  is  imperative  that  I  do  this.  I  cannot 
keep  my  eyes  open,  nor  think  easily  and  consecu- 
tively. This  is  always  the  worst  misfortune  that 
can  befall  me,  for  my  life  is  spent  in  my  books  and 
with  my  pen  when  the  daily  round  of  professional 
duty  is  done.  The  desire  for  sleep  limits  itself  and 
I  waken  to  greater  comfort,  but  as  a  rule  feel  very 
unequal  until  a  night's  repose  has  intervened. 

My  physician  had  warned  me,  that  if  I  did  not  stop 
work,  he  could  not  answer  for  the  integrity  of  my 
intellectual  centers,  and  as  soon  as  I  could  secure 
suitable  accommodation  within  ten  days  from  this 
opinion,  I  sailed  for  Hamburg.  Before  the  steamer 
was  out  of  New  York  harbor,  however,  the  inevita- 
ble had  occurred.  It  seems  to  me  that  every  neuron 
was  for  the  time  hors  du  combat.  As  for  courage, 
will  power,  motor  ability,  all  that  makes  us  capable 
sentient  beings,  I  was  temporarily  at  least  without 
them.  I  literally  grovelled  in  my  mind.  I  could  not 
eat,  never  could  very  much  for  that  matter,  could 
barely  dress  and  undress  myself,  and  had  no  right  to 
do  that  even.  My  head  hurt,  and  my  mental  anguish 
was  great.  No  one  about  me  understood  what  I  was 
suffering,  in  fact  the  suffering  of  the  true  neurasthene 

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AUTOBIOGRAPHY  OF  A  NEURASTHENE 

is  but  little  appreciated  at  any  time,  not  always  by  the 
attending  physician  even.  The  exhaustion  implicated 
my  left  cerebral  center,  as  is  usually  the  case.  My 
right  leg  and  arm  had  no  reserve  of  strength,  and  a 
few  moments'  effort  was  enough  to  bring  about  a 
condition  of  motor  inability.  The  sensation  in  my 
right  leg  from  above  the  knee  was  as  though  my  stock- 
ing were  constantly  slipping  down  and  a  few  mo- 
ments' effort  aggravated  the  condition  to  such  an  ex- 
tent that  I  was  confident  I  should  never  walk  again. 

I  arrived  in  Hamburg  no  better  than  when  I  sailed 
save  in  so  far  as  the  pure  air  had  been  beneficial.  Af- 
ter several  days'  rest  ashore  I  went  on  to  Cologne 
and  there  in  the  seclusion  of  my  room  overlooking  the 
court  of  the  hotel  which  was  abloom  with  flowers,  I 
stored  up  a  little  energy  and  rested  my  jaded  nerves. 
Fortunately  the  hotel  cuisine  provided  food  I  could 
eat,  and  I  gained  a  little  strength.  One  beautiful  day 
early  in  July  I  felt  so  much  better  that  I  took  the 
morning  steamer  up  the  Rhine.  On  board  I  fell  in 
with  a  charming  American  man  and  his  wife.  They 
were  the  first  since  leaving  my  physician  to  under- 
stand how  really  ill  I  was,  I  did  not  tell  them,  they 
saw  it,  and  were  most  kindly.  They  urged  me  not 
to  attempt  to  get  on  to  Paris,  which  was  my  objec- 
tive point.  But  despite  mv  experience  of  two  years 
previously,  I  could  not  believe  that  sitting  in  the 
train  to  make  this  journey  would  be  productive  of 

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AUTOBIOGRAPHY  OF  A  NEURASTHENE 

mischief.    At  any  rate  I  took  it,  and  after  forty-eight 

hours  in  Paris  fled  incontinently  to  the  seclusion  of 

the  inn  referred  to  at  the  edge  of  the  beautiful  Fon- 

tainebleau  Forest.        In  all  my  travels  at  home  or 

abroad  I  have  never  been  a   Cook's  tourist,  but  I 

shall  always  be  grateful  to  their  Paris  office.     I  did 

not  know  the  environs  of  Paris,  I  was  too  ill  to  look 

into  the  matter  or  to  call  upon  my  medical  confreres 

to  ask  for  assistance.     It  was  almost  impossible  to 

command  the  necessary  will  power  to  order  a  carriage, 

but  I  did  by  dint  of  supreme  effort,  and  managed  to 

get  to  Cook's  office.     In  a  few  words  I  told  them  of 

my  need  and  asked  them  to  recommend  me  to  the 

nearest  suburban  place  to  which  I  could  gO'  with  the 

least  expenditure  of  energy  providing  the  greatest 

comforts. 

They  at  once  recommended  me  to  the  Hotel  de  la 

Vllle  at  de  Londres  at  Fontainebleau.    With  them  it 

was  a  commercial  matter  entirely.     To  me  it  seemed 

If  not  a  matter  of  life  and  death,  one  of  sanity  and 

insanity.     From  the  time  that  my  physician  had  told 

me  that  he  could  not  be  responsible  for  the  Integrity 

of  my  Intellectual  centers,  If  I  did  not  give  up  my 

work  and  rest,  I  had  never  been  able  to  rid  myself 

of  the  feeling  that  he  meant  I  would  really  become 

insane.     I  assumed  that  a  dementia  was  the  form  my 

lack  of  intellectual  integrity  was  to  take.    To  say  that 

I  suffered  is  absolutely  inadequate.     Mental  anguish 

loo 


AUTOBIOGRAPHY  OF  A  NEURASTHENE 

is  harder  to  endure  than  physical  pain.  I  know,  for 
I  have  suffered  both.  I  had  had  a  very  considerable 
experience  in  the  care  of  nerve  and  mental  cases  and 
this  I  constantly  reviewed  in  my  mind.  Nothing  is 
more  prejudicial  to  the  recovery  of  neuronic  energy 
than  this  ceaseless  round  of  painful  thought.  The 
exhaustion  of  storage  batteries  or  one's  neurons  is 
repeated  again  and  again.  Self-repression  Is  most 
harmful  and  psychical  elimination  a  necessity.  Ex- 
hausting as  it  has  been  and  prejudicial  to  being,  I 
have  thanked  the  fates  every  day  for  my  professional 
work,  and  while  I  have  returned  from  my  clinical 
work  worn  to  the  uttermost  and  gone  to  it  not  only 
with  an  aching  body  but  often  with  an  aching  heart,  I 
have  found  In  my  work  for  others  without  any  pecu- 
niary relation,  a  comfort  and  satisfaction  beyond 
words.  Could  I  have  found  some  less  exhausting 
way  of  securing  the  necessary  expression  of  myself, 
it  would  have  been  better  for  me,  but  I  was  in  and 
of  the  profession  and  had  no  choice,  had  I  wished 
which  I  did  not,  but  to  keep  myself  abreast  with  Its 
progress  and  demands. 

There  was  never  a  time  when  dressed  and  on  my 
way  from  my  room  to  the  Invalid  chair  In  a  little 
court,  so  to  speak,  of  the  hedged  in  and  tree-shaded 
garden  of  the  Inn,  that  I  did  not  glance  in  a  pier  or 
glass  on  the  stair  landing  at  my  pale,  worn  and  hag- 

lOI 


AUTOBIOGRAPHY  OF  A  NEURASTHENE 

gard  face,  to  see  if  the  right  side  of  my  face  was  not 
drawn  out  of  shape. 

The  sense  of  muscular  weakness  was  so'  great  that 
it  seemed  impossible  for  the  integrity  of  nerve  and 
muscle  to  be  maintained.  Sometimes  I  was  not  satis- 
fied until  I  tried  to  whistle,  not  that  I  had  ever  been 
much  of  a  whistler,  and  had  been  discouraged  in  my 
childhood  in  my  efforts  because  I  was  a  "girl,"  but 
I  understood  the  art.  However,  I  was  not  always 
reasurred,  nor  comfortable,  despite  the  ability  to 
pucker  up  my  lips  in  suitable  fashion  and  give  ex- 
pression to  a  diminutive  whistle,  lacking  in  force  and 
carrying  power,  but  correct  in  technique. 

During  my  stay  in  this  charming  Inn  I  only  ate  in- 
doors twice,  and  then  because  rain  was  falling.  All 
my  meals  were  served  in  a  little  box-hedged  court  set 
apart  for  me  from  among  the  many  with  their  wind- 
ing and  intersecting  alleys  or  paths.  These  were 
flower-bordered  while  trees  were  everywhere  afford- 
ing grateful  shade  and  seclusion. 

The  inn,  as  is  the  custom  of  houses  in  France,  open- 
ed its  kitchen  and  administrative  doors  to  the  narrow 
cobble-paved  street  with  high  walls  on  either  side 
effectually  shielding  the  house,  court,  garden  and 
guests  from  the  observation  of  those  passing  along 
the  street.  It  is  a  custom  which  I  can  but  feel  might 
be  honored  more  in  observance  in  this  country.  Here 
we  are  always  in  evidence,  always  posing,  there  is  no 

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AUTOBIOGRAPHY  OF  A  NEURASTHENE 

shutting  one's  gardengate  and  Inviting  one's  soul.  We 
seem  never  to  forget  that  we  are  treading  the  boards. 
The  Inn  surrounded  this  quaint  garden  on  one  side 
entirely  and  partly  on  another,  while  the  remainder 
was  entirely  shut  off  from  the  street  and  neighboring 
property  by  high  enclosing  gardenwalls.     In  one  of 
these  was  the  gate  which  was  always  closed  save  upon 
the  arrival  and  departure  of  guests.     Here  I  spent  all 
my  daylight  hours  save  for  the  early  afternoon  hours, 
at  which  time  the  sun  was  very  hot  when  in  accord 
with  the  custom  I  retired  to  my  room  for  a  siesta.     I 
did  nothing,  occasionally  read  a  little  very  little  how- 
ever for  my  tired  brain  was  not  receptive,  but  watch- 
ed as  I  reclined  In  my  canopy-covered  chair,  the  life 
of  the  inn  drifting  about  me.    The  guests  and  the  ser- 
vants flitted  to  and  fro  for  the  breakfast  and  the 
dejeuner  hour,  ever  and  anon  the  gate  bell  rang  and 
new  arrivals  were  w^elcomed  by  Madame  or  her  cap- 
able aide,  while  carriages  were  announced  for  those 
going  to  drive  In  the  forest,  or  bent  upon  other  er- 
rands.    Occasionally  Madame  or  her  assistant  would 
pause  a  moment  as  they  were  going  to  and  fro  after 
the  comfort  of  other  guests  and  the  routine  care  of  so 
large   a  menage,   to   give  me   a  kindly  encouraging 
word,  but  always  In  French.  This  restricted  conversa- 
tion, for  while  I  had  always  known  French,  I  had  not 
been  In  the  habit  of  talking  it,  and  a  momentary  effort 
fatigued  me  beyond  the  ability  to  rest.     Some  day  I 

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AUTOBIOGRAPHY  OF  A  NEURASTHENE 

would  like  to  go  back  there  and  renew  my  impressions 
of  the  place.  No !  It  would  not  seem  the  same, 
places  nor  people  rarely  are.  Time  and  experience 
change  one's  points  of  view  and  human  experience  is 
characterized  by  mutability.  To-day  I  have  a  friend 
who  is  renewing  his  impressions  of  the  past  in  Egypt 
and  then  Italy,  who  has  gone  back  to  his  remoter 
past,  to  drown  the  memories  of  a  recent  past,  but  I 
am  afraid  he  will  not  be  wholly  successful,  for  after 
all  wherever  we  go  and  whenever  we  take  ourselves 
with  us  and  if  we  lack  in  happiness  and  content,  the 
experiences  thus  obtained  are  proven  to  be  most  dis- 
appointing. But  while  this  is  true  change  of  scene 
and  environment  is  helpful  under  most  circumstances, 
now  and  then. 


104 


CHAPTER  EIGHT 

''In  States  of  extreme  Brain  Fag  the  Horizon  is 
narrowed  almost  to  the  Passing  Thought/' 

Mind. 

''And  of  their  wonted  Vigor  left  them  Drained, 
Exhausted,  Spiritless,  Afflicted,  Fallen:' 

Milton,  Paradise  Lost. 

"Great  Exhaustion  can  not  he  cured  with  sudden 
Remedies  no  more  in  a  Kingdom  than  in  a  natural 
Body." 

Sir  H.  Wotton,  Reliquae. 

MY  trip  abroad  was  ill-fated.  The  sea 
voyage  did  me  no  good,  neither  did 
my  sojourn  on  the  other  side.  I  gath- 
ered myself  together  a  bit  during  my 
stay  in  the  charming  inn  near  the  for- 
est of  Fontainebleau.  As  soon  as  I  felt  that  I  had 
the  veriest  atom  of  energy  my  brain  began  to  teem 
with  the  many  things  I  wanted  to  do  all  in  the  direc- 
tion of  professional  betterment.  I  felt  that  I  could 
not  return  without  at  least  making  a  bluff  at  them. 

My  expenses  by  reason  of  my  physical  handicap 
had  greatly  exceeded  former  visits  and  to  come  back 
without  the  accomplishment  of  my  purpose  was  not  to 
be  considered  fof  one  moment.     All  my  life  I  had 

105 


AUTOBIOGRAPHY  OF  A  NEURASTHENE 

summoned  my  courage  and  will  power  to  my  aid,  and 
despite  desperate  odds  had  always  taken  the  gambler's 
chance,  arriving  somehow.  I  saw  no  reason  despite 
all  my  past  experience  why  I  should  not  do  it  again. 
I  did  not  realize  what  I  was  doing.  One  does  not 
when  it  is  the  precious  energy  of  their  neurons  that 
they  are  lavishly  using  up.  Neither  patient  nor  friend 
has  crossed  my  path  since  then  nor  ever  will,  without 
being  warned  and  carefully  watched  and  guarded  to 
the  conservation  of  neuronic  energy. 

After  two  weeks  at  Fontainebleau  I  made  my 
preparations  to  go  to  Paris  preparatory  to  crossing 
the  Channel  to  England.  I  was  very  lonely  and 
homesick,  there  were  neither  English  nor  American 
people  staying  at  the  inn,  although  two  American 
young  women  came  one  day  for  dejeuner  and  after- 
wards to  drive  in  the  forest.  This  I  had  been  unable 
to  do.  The  mistress  of  the  inn  referred  them  to  me 
as  I  reclined  in  my  invalid  chair  for  an  answer  to  some 
question  concerning  the  Forest  of  Fontainebleau.  I 
gave  them  such  information  as  I  could,  and  when  all 
was  said  and  done  they  asked  me  if  I  could  bear  the 
fatigue  of  the  drive.  I  replied  that  I  would  gladly 
risk  it  for  I  should  regret  going  away  without  visiting 
the  forest,  that  it  was  such  a  comfort  to  hear  my  own 
tongue,  for  while  I  spoke  and  understood  French,  I 
was  like  the  Scotchman  who,  when  asked  if  he  joked, 

said  "Yes,  but  I  jock  with  great  deffeculty".     The 

1 06 


AUTOBIOGRAPHY  OF  A  NEURASTHENE 

constant  thinking  necessary  to  the  adjustment  of  my 
phrases  in  French  tried  me  beyond  measure. 

The  drive  was  charming,  but  I  became  very  tired 
and  felt  I  could  never  have  gone  alone.  I  have  often 
thought  of  those  young  women,  have  wished  that  I 
might  meet  them  and  express  to  them  once  more  my 
sincere  appreciation  of  their  thoughtful  courtesy.  It 
was  the  cup  of  cold  water  to  the  wayside  wayfarer, 
the  value  of  w^hich  is  but  little  realized  in  these  days 
of  hurry  and  selfish  pursuit  of  personal  happiness. 

Before  I  left  my  retreat  I  managed  to  creep  about 
the  beautiful  grounds  of  the  interesting  chateau  or 
palace  of  Fontainebleau.  Everything  about  the 
chateau  appealed  to  me,  as  historic  sites,  buildings 
and  people  always  do,  and  I  was  unwilling  to  go 
away  without  glimpsing  its  magnificent  interior.  I 
got  no  further  than  the  Gallerie  de  Henri  II  or  Salle 
des  Fetes.  I  undertook  the  visit  without  a  thought 
of  disaster  the  only  thing  concerning  me  was  the  good- 
for-nothingness  of  my  right  leg.  I  felt  afraid  it  might 
weary  in  well  doing  before  I  had  saturated  my  mind 
with  a  knowledge  of  the  many  points  of  interest  and 
beauty.  But  I  was  utterly  unprepared  for  the  sensa- 
tions I  experienced  immediately  I  was  within  its  four 
enclosing  walls.  It  was  one  of  nameless  horror,  a 
feeling  as  though  they  were  crowding  in  upon  me  with 
crushing  force  not  only  upon  every  side,  but  from 

above  as  well.     I  never  was,  nor  am  I  in  the  habit  of 

107 


AUTOBIOGRAPHY  OF  A  NEURASTHENE 

giving  up  when  I  undertake  to  do  a  thing.  I  felt  as 
though  I  could  not  remain  long  enough  to  attain  my 
purpose,  but  I  tried  the  old  trick  of  setting  my  teeth 
together  and  saying  "I  will".  It  was  no  use.  The 
sense  of  dread,  horror  and  impending  danger  of  what 
I  knew  not,  as  well  as  the  increasing  helplessness  of 
my  right  leg  was  so  great  that  I  turned  to  the  door 
and  fled  incontinently  to  the  grounds  of  the  chateau. 
Never  shall  I  forget  how  wearily  I  crept  down  the 
massive  and  beautiful  Escalier  du  Fer  a-Cheval  and 
how  heartbroken  I  felt.  It  seemed  to  me  that  there 
was  nothing  to  be  gained  by  trying  any  longer  to  keep 
up  the  weary  struggle  for  existence.  No!  I  had  no 
suicidal  impulse.  I  was  too  down  and  out  for  that,  so 
far  as  nerve  energy  was  concerned.  I  simply  felt 
hopeless.  There  was  not  a  ray  of  light  in  my  horizon 
— neither  towards  the  dawn,  nor  the  sunset  time. 
No  matter  how  tired  I  had  been  in  the  years  of  work 
and  effort  back  of  me  I  was  rarely  without  a  desire  for 
achievement  and  a  belief  that  I  would  yet  more  nearly 
reach  my  goal.  On  the  other  hand  I  was  always  able 
to  look  towards  a  quiet  sunset  time  spent  as  long  as 
strength  and  ability  was  mine,  which  I  intended 
should  be  as  long  as  I  lived  in  a  little  professional 
work,  enough  to  keep  me  alert  and  active  and  to  en- 
able me  to  give  to  others  out  of  the  fullness  of  life's 
rich  and  varied  experience  and  for  the  rest  with  my 

books  and  pen. 

io8 


AUTOBIOGRAPHY  OF  A  NEURASTHENE 

Two  years  previously,  when  I  first  "sprained  my 
brain,"  there  had  come  into  my  life  as  a  patient — 
a  woman  of  seventy  with  a  charm  of  personality  be- 
yond words,  a  depth  of  humanity  and  loving  kind- 
ness that  was  Christ-like,  an  experience  of  life  varied 
and  rich  and  a  youth  that  was  divine.  She  was  the 
only  guest  I  entertained  under  my  roof  over  night, 
for  while  I  had  a  care  for  and  of  her,  she  under- 
stood my  need  and  so  met  it  out  of  her  largesse,  that 
she  did  not  add  to  my  fatigue  as  most  people  did. 
I  never  felt  so  rich  as  when  she  was  with  me.  After 
a  strenuous  day  to  go  down  to  my  library  with  its 
soft  light  all  the  dear  familiar  things  about  me,  my 
white  hammock  given  me  by  two  South-American 
patients,  husband  and  wife,  made  by  South-American 
Indian  women  of  the  cotton  they  had  grown,  stretched 
invitingly  before  the  fire  and  to  find  this  lovely  sil- 
very-haired, soft-voiced,  womanly  woman  with  her 
dainty  head  drapery  of  Fayal  lace,  always  with  a 
book  or  her  wTiting  pad  on  her  knee,  and  seated  in  a 
low,  highbacked  Spanish  chair  of  tw^o  hundred  years 
gone  by,  gave  me  a  sense  of  comfort  and  richness  as 
does  not  come  too  often  in  life.  She  had  an  active 
brain  and  great  versatility  and  was  the  widow  of  a 
well  known  literati  of  this  country  in  the  earlier  part 
of  the  nineteenth  century.  Her  intelligent  memory 
had  stored  away  the  fruits  of  her  life's  experience. 

By  reason  of  her  sound  sense,  good  judgment,  dis- 

109 


AUTOBIOGRAPHY  OF  A  NEURASTHENE 

criminating  taste  and  cheerful  philosophy  she  was 
enabled  to  bring  forth  the  fruits  of  all  her  experience 
for  the  good  and  enlightenment  of  all  with  whom  she 
came  in  contact.  To  me  she  was  a  comfort  beyond 
words,  and  not  the  least  of  her  helpful  influence  was 
due  to  the  universality  of  her  motherhood.  My 
mother,  blessings  on  her  memory,  had  not  meant  to 
me  that  which  my  father  did,  and  the  charm  of  this 
dear  woman's  motherliness  was  therefore  all  the 
greater  to  me.  She  came  into  my  life  at  the  age  of 
seventy  and  remained  cloistered  there,  so  far  as  I  was 
concerned,  until  her  death  at  eighty.  A  few  months 
before  her  death  she  sent  for  me  to  come  to  see  her 
in  another  city,  saying  "They,"  referring  to  her  med- 
ical attendants,  "do  not  tell  me,  but  I  read  between 
the  lines  and  I  know  I  have  not  much  longer  to  stay, 
and  I  would  like  to  look  into  your  dear  face  again 
before  I  go.  There  is  also  a  little  professional  ser- 
vice you  can  render  me.  May  I  expect  you  for  the 
week  end?"  Dear  lady.  The  service,  yes,  I  ren- 
dered it,  but  had  I  not  divined  the  beautiful  thought 
and  kindness  back  of  the  enclosed  check,  I  would 
have  preferred  to  render  it  without  even  the  remu- 
neration of  traveling  expenses.  Her  loveliness  of 
character,  her  perfect  exemplification  of  the  truth  that 
whom  the  gods  love  die  young,  for  that  means  not 
young  in  years  of  necessity,  but  young  in  all  the  divine 

attributes  of  mind  and  heart  whenever  they  die  ap- 

iio 


AUTOBIOGRAPHY  OF  A  NEURASTHENE 

pealed  to  the  best  that  was  in  me  and  I  promised  my- 
self that  despite  pain  of  such  constancy  and  severity 
that  many  an  unwilling  moan  was  wrung  from  my 
lips,  despite  sleepless  nights  spent  in  tossing  from  side 
to  side,  try^ing  to  find  a  position  in  which  I  could  be 
comfortable,  despite  a  weariness  of  body  and  mind 
that  was  well  nigh  unbearable,  and  an  anguish  of 
despair  over  the  incompleteness  of  result  from  my 
honest  effort,  from  that  time  on  I  would  as  far  as  lay 
within  my  qualities  of  heart  and  mind  make  myself 
mean  to  others  as  much  as  she  meant  to  me.  Many 
a  night  when  worn  and  hurt  almost  to  the  limit,  when 
I  could  not  sleep  and  when  every  nerve  and  nerve 
ending  cried  out  with  an  intolerable  agony  of  pain 
and  I  felt  so  alone  in  the  misery  of  it  all  that  my  eyes 
would  fill  with  tears,  my  thought  traveled  to  her  dear 
wrinkled  face,  so  calm  and  happy  and  to  her  cheer- 
ful helpful  influence.  Seldom  did  the  thought  of  her 
fail  to  strengthen  resolution,  and  although  the  condi- 
tions of  my  life  were  such  that  I  could  not  always  rise 
above  them,  and  weakness  and  despair  were  often  the 
controlling  influences,  still  to  her  I  feel  I  owe  so  much 
that  I  cannot  forbear  this  tribute  to  her  memory.  No 
w^oman  has  ever  filled  her  place  in  my  life  and  never 
will.  There  are  those  who  say  I  mean  to  them  in 
these  ways.  In  so  far  as  this  is  true,  their  debt  Is  to 
these  memories  of  my  dear  gracious  lady  rather  than 

to  myself. 

Ill 


AUTOBIOGRAPHY  OF  A  NEURASTHENE 

At  this  juncture,  however,  there  was  neither  retro- 
spect nor  prospect.  It  seemed  the  end  of  things  and 
days  were  required  to  store  up  enough  energy  to  give 
me  sufficient  hope  and  courage  to  take  my  weary  way 
back  to  Paris.  I  had  but  a  few  weeks  that  I  could 
absent  myself  on  the  other  side  from  my  responsibil- 
ities which  were  accentuated  by  reason  of  trouble, 
financial  loss  and  illness. 

The  journey  to  Paris  required  a  herculean  effort 
but  it  was  made.  Again  there  followed  exhaustion 
of  my  forces.  By  dint  of  resting  the  most  of  the  day 
as  well  as  the  night  I  managed  to  do  a  few  of  the 
things  which  took  me  to  Paris.  I  then  went  on  to 
London  but  upon  my  arrival  I  had  to  go  to  bed  again. 
It  was  dreary  and  heartbreaking  in  the  extreme.  I 
was  all  alone  and  dependent  upon  myself  for  every- 
thing. I  suffer  it  all  again  when  I  know  of  others 
who  are  passing  through  a  similar  experience.  I  tried 
a  West  End  boarding  house,  but  it  was  so  triste  I 
could  not  stay.  Upon  advising  with  a  physician  who 
had  entered  my  life  through  the  medium  of  corres- 
pondence only  and  whom  I  met  personally  for  the 
first  tim.e  I  secured  a  room  in  a  large  and  beautiful 
hotel  on  the  Thames  Embankment  and  in  the  heart 
of  the  city,  where  I  could  have  the  quiet  and  solitude 
of  my  bedroom  or  the  grateful  diversion  of  life  as  it 
streamed  about  me.  The  sun  room,  though  but  little 
radiant  for  it  was  London,  overlooking  the  Thames 

112 


AUTOBIOGRAPHY  OF  A  NEURASTHENE 

and  the  many  bits  of  historic  interest  was  a  great 
comfort  to  me,  when  I  could  expend  the  necessary 
energy  to  go  there.  But  much  of  the  day  had  to  be 
spent  in  bed  utterly  helpless  and  entirely  alone.  After 
several  days  of  rest  1  managed  to  store  up  enough  en- 
ergy to  take  a  hansom  and  call  upon  two  or  three 
medical  men  in  whose  work  I  was  much  interested. 
Follow^ing  this  I  was  again  hors  du  combat  and  at 
last  I  came  to  a  realizing  sense  of  my  condition.  My 
disposition  is  to  be  so  intent  upon  whatever  concerns 
me,  that  my  awakenings  are  apt  to  be  very  rude.  It 
was  well  into  August  and  the  date  of  my  sailing  was 
for  the  twenty-second  of  the  month  that  I  might 
reach  home  in  time  to  take  up  my  work  the  first  of 
September.  My  fund  of  common  sense  and  life  long 
experience  as  well  as  the  impelling  necessity  made  it 
clear  to  me  that  I  must  get  back  and  try  to  get  well 
through  complete  rest  in  order  that  I  might  take  up 
my  work  again  and  meet  the  financial  obligations 
which  were  Increasing  daily  by  reason  of  my  helpless- 
ness. I  went  to  the  tourist  office,  booking  my  passage 
to  be  transferred  to  a  steamer  sailing  at  an  earlier 
date.  I  tried  to  explain  my  need  so  as  to  secure  a  con- 
cession from  the  officials  of  steamers  already  over- 
crowded for  the  return  voyage,  but  what  could  they 
do.  Now  I  know  that  but  then  my  need  was  so  great 
that  I  felt  that  I  should  be  their  first  consideration. 
My  lack  of  self-control — it  seems  to  me  that,  that 

113 


AUTOBIOGRAPHY  OF  A  NEURASTHENE 

winter,  spring  and  summer  there  never  was  a  time 
that  my  eyes  were  not  full  of  unshed  tears,  was  so  evi- 
dent that  the  least  word,  look,  an  unspoken  thought, 
would  cause  them  to  flow,  thereby  prejudicing  my 
cause.  I  knew  it  but  I  could  not  help  it.  I  was  help- 
less and  powerless.  My  right  leg,  arm,  and  right 
facial  muscles  were  weak  and  served  me  badly.  My 
head  was  so  tired,  there  never  was  a  sense  of  rest.  I 
was  profoundly  depressed  and  I  ached  so  wearily 
from  head  to  foot,  and  at  the  same  time  every  part  of 
my  body  was  so  exquisitely  sensitive  to  touch  that  I 
well  nigh  despaired.  A  letter  at  this  juncture  from 
the  trained  nurse  friend  of  whom  I  have  already 
spoken  helped  me  once  more  to  decision.  I  secured 
my  passage  in  a  steamer  sailing  one  week  earlier  than 
my  original  date,  sacrificing  one  half  of  my  passage 
money  to  this  end,  wrote  her  to  take  no  case,  to  in- 
struct the  caretaker  to  open  my  house,  to  have  every- 
thing ready  for  my  reception,  and  to  stay  with  me 
until  I  was  well.  She  had  spent  an  hour  with  me  the 
evening  before  I  sailed  and  helped  me  in  my  prepara- 
tions for  the  voyage.  She  said  but  little,  but  while 
caring  for  me  afterwards  said  "I  never  saw  any  one 
for  whom  my  heart  ached  as  it  did  for  you  and  I  won- 
dered what  that  "big  doctor"  of  yours  meant  by  per- 
mitting you  to  go  on  that  voyage  and  alone.  You 
should  have  been  put  to  bed." 

Dear  me,  don't  I  know  that  now,  and  did  not  I 

114 


AUTOBIOGRAPHY  OF  A  NEURASTHENE 

know  it  before  I  sailed  for  home.  But  the  patient  is 
not  the  one  to  know  it.  Whoever  is  in  authority, 
whether  a  father  as  in  the  case  of  the  man  referred 
to  in  a  subsequent  page,  a  family  friend  or  the  phy- 
sician, must  assume  the  responsibility.  For  a  little 
time,  while  still  on  the  other  side  and  on  the  voyage 
home  I  was  disposed  to  blame  my  physician  and  to 
feel  unkindly  towards  him.  That  soon  passed  and 
now  in  the  calm  retrospect  after  all  these  years,  I 
realize  that  by  reason  of  my  strong  will,  tremendous 
courage,  I  dominated  the  decision  as  I  know  I  often 
do,  therefore  I  can  but  hold  him  blameless. 

The  voyage  was  not  well  borne.  I  could  not  eat 
but  again  the  outdoor  life  was  good  for  me.  I  was 
fortunate  in  meeting  some  old  acquaintances.  Still 
it  was  believed  I  could  do  more  than  I  did.  The  hurt 
of  that  as  I  felt  it  then  and  as  I  have  felt  it  during  all 
these  years  rankles  still.  So  profound  w^as  the  exhaus- 
tion of  my  left  motor  centres  that  the  loss  of  strength 
and  the  feeling  of  being  paralyzed,  extended  through- 
out the  entire  right  side  of  my  body,  invading  the  left 
after  a  day  of  tempestuous  seas.  No  one  knew^  I  was 
coming  and  even  so  there  w^as  no  one  belonging  to  me 
whom  I  could  have  asked  save  my  nurse  friend,  and 
I  could  only  hope  she  was  at  the  house  as  I  had  di- 
rected. Putting  aside  all  pride,  I  told  the  custom 
officer  of  my  weakness  and  begged  him  to  inspect  my 
little  luggage   quickly.      He  did  it  as  promptly  as 

115 


AUTOBIOGRAPHY  OF  A  NEURASTHENE 

possible,  but  if  red  tape  could  take  cognizance  of  one's 
need  at  such  time  It  would  be  a  saving  clause.  Never 
shall  I  forget  that  weary  ride  uptown.  The  streets 
were  so  rough  and  the  reverberations  through  their 
canon  like  depths  In  addition  to  the  jolting  exhausted 
my  little  remaining  force.  It  was  such  a  comfort  to 
reach  my  own  threshold  again,  but  it  was  a  very  sad 
home  coming.  I  had  left  crushed  and  broken,  but  I 
hoped  much.  All  had  come  to  naught.  The  house- 
keeper let  me  in  and  said  the  nurse  was  on  my  bed- 
room floor.  Before  attempting  the  weary  climb  up 
the  stairs  I  went  into  my  office  to  get  my  mail.  Be- 
fore the  accumulated  mail  of  eight  weeks,  medical 
and  scientific  journals,  reprints,  letters  from  far 
and  near,  all  pregnant  with  the  memory  of 
past  effort  and  future  requirement,  I  fled  dis- 
mayed, taking  only  one  letter  from  a  very 
dear  friend  which  had  just  been  received  and  was 
therefore  on  top.  It  seemed  good  to  have  it  to  wel- 
come me  home  written  as  it  was  by  a  very  busy  and 
earnest  man.  By  dint  of  holding  on  to  the  bannisters, 
I  managed  to  climb  up  the  stairs  to  my  rooms.  It 
was  weary  work,  however,  and  left  me  so  wretchedly 
tired  that  my  friend's  cheery  voice  of  welcome  was 
more  than  grateful.  As  soon  as  the  greetings  were 
over,  I  said  you  are  going  to  stay,  are  you  not,  or  have 
you  a  case?     No,  she  had  no  case,  "but  you  will  not 

need  me  but  a  day  or  two,  doctor,  and  I  will  stay  that 

ii6 


AUTOBIOGRAPHY  OF  A  NEURASTHENE 

long."  In  my  inmost  soul  I  knew  better,  but  I  was 
tired  of  combating  the  opinions  of  others  as  to  how  I 
was  when  I  would  be  better,  and  what  was  good  for 
me  as  I  still  am.  Just  two  friends  have  I  that  under- 
stand and  they  have  trod  and  still  tread  the  weary 
way.  I  crept  about  the  room  putting,  with  the  nurse's 
assistance,  my  things  away.  Before  an  hour  was  done 
I  said  there  was  no  use,  I  cannot  keep  up  any  longer. 
She  made  my  bed  comfortable,  helped  me  into  a  negli- 
gee, in  this  instance  a  silk  night  dress,  which  a  patient 
who  could  not  pay  money  had  made  for  me,  that  my 
sensitive  body  need  not  suffer  any  more  hurt,  for  in 
all  my  busy,  hardworked  life  I  had  never  owned  a 
negligee,  just  business  clothes,  and  an  occasional 
"dress  up  gown".  Words  cannot  convey  to  others, 
unless  they  have  had  a  similar  experience,  my  appre- 
ciation of  the  luxury,  the  comfort,  the  peace  of  my 
environment  again.  This  was  increased  by  the  pres- 
ence of  a  faithful,  congenial  nurse  who  for  years  had 
stood  by  the  bedside  of  my  patients  and  who  had 
never  failed  me.  She  still  lives  to  be  called  blessed 
by  those  for  whom  she  cares.  I  shall  never  forget 
how  despite  aches,  pains,  and  helplessness,  I  revelled 
In  all  this  and  also  in  having  my  food  brought  to  me 
at  the  proper  time  without  any  thought  or  care  on  my 
part.  It  was  the  beginning  of  weeks  of  the  closest 
companionship  and  beautiful  care.  To-day,  nearly 
thirteen  years  later,  she  Is  as  she  has  been  since  first  I 

117 


AUTOBIOGRAPHY  OF  A  NEURASTHENE 

knew  her  nearly  a  quarter  of  a  century  ago  as  dear  a 
friend  as  I  have.  No  other  nurse  in  all  my  experience 
with  nurses  has  ever  replaced  her  in  my  affection  and 
esteem.  I  told  her  how  I  felt  I  should  not  have  been 
allowed  to  go  away  and  said  it  made  me  feel  as 
though  my  physician  had  not  understood  my  needs 
and  discussed  with  her  the  advisability  of  sending  for 
another  neurologist.  But  when  all  was  said  and  done, 
I  said  No !  I  will  not  call  in  any  one  else,  he  knows 
my  condition  and  he  helped  me  to  pull  through  hap- 
pily before  and  had  I  been  the  physician  and  another 
the  patient  I  should  be  better  able  to  care  for  the 
case  a  second  time  than  another. 

A  message  was  therefore  sent.  This  was  Saturday, 
but  he  was  at  his  country  place  for  the  week  end. 
Therefore  he  did  not  see  me  until  the  following  Mon- 
day. When  he  came,  I  was  at  once  reassured  and  my 
confidence  restored.  This  was  but  just,  for  his  pro- 
fessional attainments  were  such  as  to  command  my 
respect  and  his  personal  characteristics  my  esteem  and 
confidence.  The  comfort  of  feeling  his  strength  back 
of  me  was  tremendous,  and  it  has  never  left  me  in  all 
these  years.  On  the  other  hand  I  realize  fully  how 
much  his  cheerful  optimism  and  fund  of  humor  has 
served  my  needs. 

He  looked  me  all  over,  asked  a  few  questions,  not 

many,  but  I  told  him  in  broken  sentences  and  feeble 

voice  of  my  dreary  experience,  of  my  good-for-noth- 

ii8 


AUTOBIOGRAPHY  OF  A  NEURASTHENE 

Ing  leg  and  arm,  my  weakened  facial  muscles,  how  I 
had  tried  to  comfort  myself  by  standing  before  the 
glass  to  see  if  I  could  put  the  muscles  of  my  mouth 
in  shape  to  whistle,  of  how  during  the  voyage  my 
whole  side  had  been  weak  and  helpless,  and  of  the 
last  distressing  indication  of  exhausted  nerve  force, 
the  losing  of  one  and  sometimes  two  toes. 

They  would  disappear  absolutely,  so  far  as  sensa- 
tion of  having  them  was  concerned,  for  hours.  I  was 
not  worried  about  them,  I  w^as  too  exhausted  to  be 
worried  about  anything,  still  it  was  a  comfort  to  have 
the  nurse  come  with  a  fresh  hot  w-ater  bottle,  when  I 
called  to  her  that  I  had  lost  my  toes  again. 

I  think  it  was  not  until  after  his  second  or  third 
visit  that  I  summoned  up  sufficient  courage  to  tell 
him  of  the  horrible  haunting  fear  I  had  carried  away 
w^ith  me,  that  had  never  left  me  during  all  the  time 
I  w^as  gone,  that  had  been  with  me  ever  since  the  day 
he  told  me  that,  if  I  did  not  stop  my  work  at  once 
and  get  away,  he  could  not  be  responsible  for  what 
would  befall  me,  that  my  intellectual  centers  would 
suffer  and  that  that  fear  still  remained.  I  finally  man- 
aged to  confide  to  him  all  this  horrible  dread.  I 
never  had  the  slightest  mental  aberration  and  I  went 
over  and  over  all  my  experience  w^ith  mental  cases  to 
try  to  know  just  exactly  what  the  point  of  attack 
would  be.     The  only  thing  I  could  see  about  myself 

was  my  utter  inability  to  do  anythting,  to  see  any  joy 

119 


AUTOBIOGRAPHY  OF  A  NEURASTHENE 

in  living,  but  I  did  not  want  to  die.  It  was  not  a 
feeling  of  depression  as  I  had  known  it  both  before 
and  since,  but  of  utter  lack  of  interest  in  everybody 
and  everything.  Had  I  possessed  the  inherent  po- 
tential a  profound  melancholia  might  have  been  my 
fate,  but  I  did  not.  I  dragged  myself  about  per- 
functorily before  I  sailed,  attending  to  my  routine 
duties,  professional  and  otherwise,  and  though  ut- 
terly weary  and  ennuied  when  the  end  of  the  day 
came,  would  still  perfunctorily  drag  my  weary  foot- 
steps to  some  nearby  hotel  for  my  dinner,  hoping  to 
strike  a  cuisine  that  would  give  my  flagging  appe- 
tite a  little  stimulus.  It  never  came,  but  I  kept  on 
trying  as  the  doctor  had  impressed  upon  me  the  ne- 
cessity of  being  fed.  There  is  one  hotel  which  I  par- 
ticularly affected  at  the  time,  because  it  was  not  far 
distant  from  my  house,  and  because  the  inner  court 
had  a  fountain  and  growing  plants.  These  gave  my 
exhausted  and  wearied  senses  a  momentary  refresh- 
ment, but  by  the  time  my  dinner  was  eaten  and  I 
was  back  in  an  easy-chair  in  my  library,  it  was  all 
gone,  and  the  pall  of  inertia,  dread  and  despair  had 
again  settled  down  upon  me.  I  tried  to  read  as  was 
my  wont,  but  there  was  neither  intellectual,  emotional, 
nor  spiritual  response,  just  a  feeling  of  having  partak- 
en of  husks  or  of  the  apples  of  Sodom  and  Gomorrah. 
There  was  an  actual  physical  sense  of  utter  lack  of 
osmosis,   or  transfer  of  liquids  through  cell  mem- 

120 


AUTOBIOGRAPHY  OF  A  NEURASTHENE 

branes  In  my  brain  as  it  were — if  one  could  take  cog- 
nizance of  so  intimate  a  physiological  process — a  feel- 
ing of  intense  dryness  and  aridity. 

That  hotel  I  have  religiously  avoided  ever  since.  I 
think  nothing  would  induce  me  to  sit  down  in  that 
dining  room  or  to  partake  of  a  mouthful  of  food  there 
again.  Oh  yes!  I  would  go  were  there  a  necessity, 
but  not  otherwise.  That  is  one  of  the  lessons  I  have 
learned,  to  avoid  the  doing  of  anything  not  neces- 
sary, if  in  the  doing  painful  thoughts  and  feelings 
will  be  awakened.  This  is  in  order  to  conserve  my 
energy  for  the  sake  of  life's  obligation.  If  however 
occasion  demands  I  can  meet  any  emergency  at  any 
time  and  place. 

On  the  other  hand  my  obsession  if  you  will  but 
really  it  was  not,  for  the  doctor  had  emphatically  said 
"If  you  do  not  stop  at  once  and  get  away,  your  intel- 
lectual centres  will  suffer",  in  regard  to  insanity  was 
never  discussed.  I  was  too  hurt  and  sensitive  at  the 
thought  that  anything  of  that  sort  could  befall  me, 
that  I  would  not  talk  about  it  just  as  to-day  there  are 
many  things  I  do  not  speak  of  even  with  him,  simply 
because  of  the  neuronic  anguish  awakened.  We  skim 
across  thin  ice  occasionally,  but  there  is  always  a  joke 
attached  so  as  to  appeal  to  my  sense  of  humor.  It 
has  been  the  saving  clause  in  my  life  and  a  rule  of  the 
office  is  to  try  to  keep  it  in  such  evidence  as  to  rise 
above  the  pathology  seeking  attention.     The   only 

121 


AUTOBIOGRAPHY  OF  A  NEURASTHENE 

thing  ever  said  was  In  the  first  Instance  a  positive  re- 
assurance that  there  was  no  such  danger  and  then  and 
subsequently  a  teasing  play  upon  words  which  would 
arouse  all  the  fight  In  me.  Gradually  this  Intolerable 
fear  disappeared  and  while  I  have  been  through  very 
much  since,  It  has  never  recurred.  I  know  within 
myself  that  I  am  not  one  of  those  to  cross  the  border 
line  unless  from  a  traumatism.  Were  I  Inclined  to 
arterial  changes  they  would  be  postponed  Indefinitely 
by  reason  of  my  simple  life,  but  thank  heaven  I  am 
not.  Again — Kismet — I  question  whether  I  will  ever 
suffer  a  head  injury  that  will  prejudice  my  mental 
health  save  In  being  head  weary  for  I  have  had  four 
serious  Injuries  to  my  head,  no  one  of  which  preju- 
diced my  health  more  than  the  sunstroke.  A  medical 
man,  other  than  my  physician  in  expressing  his  inter- 
est and  concern,  said,  "But  never  mind,  doctor,  your 
gray  matter  has  not  been  interfered  with."  Even 
without  all  these  untoward  happenings  my  brain  could 
never  have  been  more  alert,  active  and  capable  of 
understanding,  but  it  would  have  been  capable  of 
greater  sustained  effort  than  It  is.  I  do  not  spend  my 
days  In  repining  but  In  thankfulness  for  that  which 
the  gods  have  provided. 

Nothing  was  said  as  to  my  fiasco  save  one  day  I 
summoned  my  courage  to  my  aid  and  I  asked  "Why 
did  you  let  me  go,  doctor?"  He  answered  "You  are 
the  only  neurasthene  I  ever  did  let  go  on  a  journey,  I 

122 


AUTOBIOGRAPHY  OF  A  NEURASTHENE 

always  keep  them  at  home,  but  to  tell  you  the  truth 
I  did  not  realize  how  far  gone  you  were."  That  is 
the  key  note.  He  would  have  realized  more  fully, 
and  I  would  have  had  to  suffer  less,  had  it  not  been 
for  the  symptomatic  neurasthene  who  dominates  the 
field  by  reason  of  their  greater  frequency,  their  per- 
sistent pose  and  often  hysterical  conditions.  The  case 
of  an  utterly  down  and  out,  hard-worked  physician, 
whose  physician  and  friends  have  united  in  saying 
"she  is  all  brain  and  no  body"  was  very  different. 
As  to  the  truth  of  the  above  opinion  I  can  say  nothing 
save  that  my  mind  has  been  to  me  the  delight  of  my 
Hfe.  The  conditions  and  pleasures  which  have  preju- 
diced its  best  activities,  even  the  most  simple  friendly 
and  social  diversions,  of  which  the  world  never  knows, 
created  in  me  only  a  sense  of  disgust  and  dissatisfac- 
tion. 


123 


CHAPTER  NINE 

''A  Mother  is  a  Mother  still, 
The  Holiest  Thing  alive.'^ 

Coleridge,  The  Three  Graves. 

'^Mothers  should  never  die^ 

THE  first  thing  I  did  upon  my  arrival  from 
my  voyage  on  that  morning  late  in  Au- 
gust just  two  years  from  the  culmination 
of  my  previous  but  incomplete  break, 
just  a  "sprain",  and  five  days  less  than 
two  years  from  my  first  visit  to  my  physician,  I  sent 
a  telegram  to  my  mother  announcing  my  safe  return 
to  this  side  of  the  water  but  saying  nothing  of  my 
health.  She  always  felt  happier  to  know  her  brood 
even  when  they  were  grown  and  responsible  women 
were  under  the  same  roof  with  herself,  and  in  this 
instance  on  the  same  side  of  the  Atlantic.  I  was  the 
only  one  who  had  given  her  this  pain,  this  was  my 
third  visit  and  I  was  very  glad  to  send  her  word  of 
my  arrival.  About  the  middle  of  that  first  week  at 
home  with  my  physician  and  nurse  in  attendance,  my 
business  man  came  to  see  me  and  I  went  over  all  my 

business  affairs  with  him.     I  had  overdrawn  my  ac- 

124 


AUTOBIOGRAPHY  OF  A  NEURASTHENE: 

count  and  ill  as  I  was  I  had  to  decide  upon  ways  and 
means.  Bills  for  professional  work  were  long  over- 
due but  when  are  they  not.  At  last  everything  was 
said  and  I  decided  upon  my  course  of  action  and  in- 
structed him  what  to  do.  I  had  a  few  dollars  cash, 
my  nurse  had  a  few,  and  our  friendship  was  such  that 
mine  was  her's  and  her's  mine  if  need  existed.  There 
was  no  question.  It  was  simply  done,  without  any 
pose  or  affectation,  just  as  she  met  all  my  needs  even 
to  serving  me  the  most  delicious  sweetbreads  prepared 
in  many  different  w^ays  to  my  gustatory  delight  as 
appetite  returned  and  all  made  from  calves  brains 
bought  for  a  few  pennies  instead  of  the  more  expen- 
sive luxury. 

From  this  interview  I  was  left  In  a  much  worse 
condition  than  when  I  arrived  home.  The  congestion 
in  the  right  side  of  my  brain  was  aggravated  and 
involved  the  entire  hemisphere.  I  was  in  great  mental 
and  physical  pain.  Ice  caps  were  kept  on  my  head 
and  my  nurse  in  her  anxiety  called  in  another  physi- 
cian who  happened  to  call  at  the  house  on  business  as 
my  own  doctor  was  still  at  his  country  place  save  for 
his  stated  hour  and  day.  This  man  Increased  her  sense 
of  anxiety.  To  me  he  meant  nothing,  just  something 
extremely  distasteful  to  be  gotten  rid  of  as  many  peo- 
ple, servants,  stenographers  and  ty^pewrlters  for  ex- 
ample whom  I  have  had  to  employ.     Just  as  fast  as 

possible  I  get  rid  of  them  or,  If  It  Is  necessary  to  use 

125 


AUTOBIOGRAPHY  OF  A  NEURASTHENE 

their  services  I  use  them,  burying  them  meanwhile 
ten  thousand  fathoms  and  more  deep  in  the  pool  of 
oblivion.  If  I  am  to  live  my  allotted  days,  fulfill 
my  mission  in  ife,  such  people  must  be  as  though 
dead  tO'  me.  Their  vibrations  disturb  all  the  beauti- 
ful harmonies  of  life.  The  doctor  in  question  pre- 
scribed some  camphor  pills — exactly  why  camphor  I 
do  not  know.  For  that  matter  doctors  write  innu- 
merable prescriptions  for  innumerable  conditions  that 
have  absolutely  no  meaning  nor  bearing  upon  the 
case  in  question  and  then  prate  learnedly  of  the  inex- 
actness of  medical  science.  In  their  hands  inexact 
— yes^ — because  they  have  not  learned  the  first  fun- 
damental underlying  therapeutic  principle.  With  a 
well  known  physician  an  earnest  man  and  extensive 
contributor  to  medical  literature  I  believe  it  to  be  "a 
sin  to  have  therapeutists  tell  us  that  therapeutics  is 
'a  confusion'  today  and  to  have  things  as  they  are, 
when  we  know  what  therapeutics  means  guaged  from 
the  standpoint  of  human  suffering." 

The  next  day  my  own  physician  came.  When  the 
nurse  told  him  of  my  condition  of  the  day  before,  of 
the  heart  disturbance,  the  pain  in  my  head,  my  tem- 
perature, he  asked  when  she  had  finished  what  the 
doctor  gave  me.  I  told  him,  camphor.  Instantly 
came  the  quizzical  smile  and  joke  which  I  so  much  ap- 
preciated and  had  learned  to  watch  its  coming,  "what 

for,  to  keep  off  the  moths  ?"    I  was  pretty  ill  for  some 

126 


AUTOBIOGRAPHY  OF  A  NEURASTHENE 

days  as  well  as  exhausted.  Saturday  at  midnight  one 
week  from  my  arrival  I  heard  the  door  bell.  The 
nurse  was  in  an  adjoining  room.  I  called  to  her  ask- 
ing if  she  would  mind  answering  it.  She  at  once  went 
down  and  although  she  returned  promptly,  it  seemed 
to  me  that  it  took  a  long  time  to  receive  the  message 
and  come  up  two  flights  of  stairs.  When  she  came 
up  she  had  a  telegram  in  her  hand  which  she  opened 
and  went  to  the  dressing  table  light  to  read.  Stand- 
ing motionless  she  put  it  back  in  the  envelope  but  said 
nothing.  I  waited  a  moment  or  two  and  then  said, 
"You  may  as  well  tell  me,  I  know  what  it  is."  She 
then  read  a  message  from  one  of  my  sisters,  saying 
"mother  ill,  pir,ase  come."  I  knew  before  she  told 
me.  My  mother  had  not  been  entirely  well.  There 
was  nothing  to  do  but  to  dictate  a  message  of  "love 
and  sympathy,  too  ill  to  travel."  It  was  the  first  they 
knew  of  my  illness.  I  told  the  nurse  where  she  would 
find  the  nearest  telegraph  office  and  between  midnight 
and  the  first  morning  hour  she  slipped  out  quietly  to 
send  it.  It  seemed  very  strange  that  I  who  had  al- 
ways been  so  active  and  energetic  had  been  the  one 
upon  whom  demands  were  made  in  sickness,  suffering 
and  trouble,  should  be  lying  all  alone  in  that  big 
house  helpless  for  all  practical  purposes.  There  was 
no  fretting  nor  moaning,  no  expression  of  grief  nor 
interest.     I  was  too  utterly  down  and  out  for  that. 

The  remainder  of  the  night  passed  somehow  and  the 

127 


AUTOBIOGRAPHY  OF  A  NEURASTHENE 

morning  dawned.  I  was  as  usual  awake  with  the 
dawn.  The  nurse  came  In  as  the  door  bell  rang  again. 
Once  more  she  went  to  answer  it  and  once  more  I 
waited  what  seemed  an  interminable  time.  It  was  as 
I  knew  another  telegram.  She  opened  it,  standing  by 
my  bed  side  and  read,  "mother  died  at  midnight." 
With  the  reading  of  this  message  my  body  slipped 
away  from  me  entirely.  It  was  as  though  I  had  no 
body  nothing  but  a  head.  All  consciousness  of  my 
physical  self  disappeared  absolutely.  The  batteries 
were  exhausted  and  for  a  time  there  was  no  communi- 
cation. As  the  effect  of  the  shock  passed  I  gradually 
stored  up  sufficient  neuronic  energy  to  establish  com- 
munication again  with  the  rest  of  my  body,  but  con- 
tinued for  many  days  to  lose  my  toes.  I  did  not  fret 
do  not  recall  having  wept — just  lay  there  quietly 
thinking  vaguely  how  the  old  home  was  broken  and 
Vv^ondering  how  they  were  all  bearing  it.  I  also  vague- 
ly wondered  if  they  would  take  her  back  to  my  child- 
hood's home  to  lay  her  by  my  father,  sister  and 
brother.  In  my  mind  I  relived  my  father's  illness, 
death  and  funeral  services.  Even  now  it  seems  it 
must  have  happened  only  yesterday.  There  had  been 
days  of  pain  and  suffering,  physician  friends  had  come 
and  gone  all  of  them  In  the  village,  for  my  father  was 
respected  and  beloved,  every  measure  had  been  ex- 
hausted, but  he  lay  dying.     I  was  called  in  to  bid  him 

goodbye.    He  was  gasping  for  breath — a  pneumonia 

128 


AUTOBIOGRAPHY  OF  A  NEURASTHENE 

— and  moving  his  hands  restlessly  back  and  forth  as 
though  fanning  the  air.  There  was  no  merciful  oxy- 
gen stored  then  to  be  used.  Our  home  was  built  as  a 
typical  New  England  house  with  its  brick  oven  in  the 
kitchen,  as  well  as  the  kitchen  range,  and  a  great  set 
copper  boiler,  while  contiguous  wood  house  and  work- 
room were  equipped  with  my  father's  work  bench 
where  he  loved  to  recreate  and  where  I  laboriously 
wrought  out  of  bits  of  pine  board  with  plane,  saw  and 
hammer  furniture  for  the  houses  of  mine  and  my 
sisters  dolls.  The  house  was  filled  with  physicians, 
family  friends  and  neighbors.  Some  one  of  the  family 
friends,  my  grandmother  I  think  had  prepared  the 
weekly  baking  of  home  made  bread.  It  was  much 
needed  with  all  the  guests  there  were  in  the  house, 
and  there  was  no  village  baker.  It  had  been  placed  in 
the  brick  oven,  but  in  the  absence  of  my  mother  there 
was  no  one  who  understood  how  to  care  for  or  re- 
move it.  Some  one  said  to  call  me  that  I  knew.  I 
was  not  quite  fourteen.  Intent  upon  its  care  I  w^ent 
to  work,  but  before  I  had  finished  a  hand  was  laid 
upon  my  arm  and  I  was  taken  away  to  join  my  mother 
and  sisters  because  my  father's  life  was  ended.  Why 
is  it  that  one  must  for  the  time  end  all  one's  duties  and 
suspend  one's  relations  to  life  and  its  interests,  when 
the  life  of  a  dear  one  goes  out.  It  is  so  unwise  to  cut 
one  off  from  all  the  daily  homely  duties  which  after 

all  often  serve  to  prevent  despair.     The  feeling  of  a 

129 


AUTOBIOGRAPHY  OF  A  NEURASTHENE 

friend  of  mine  upon  the  death  of  his  wife  to  whom 
he  was  devotedly  attached,  that  he  was  the  one  to  take 
her  in  his  arms  and  place  her  at  rest  in  her  grave,  is 
much  more  nearly  right,  it  seems  to  me.  But  I  went 
to  complete  the  group,  the  widowed  wife  and  mother 
with  six  daughters,  the  youngest  almost  a  baby.  On 
the  following  Sunday  my  father  was  buried.  With 
the  tolling  of  the  church  bell,  our  pet  dog  began  his 
utterly  mournful  heartbroken  cry.  Know — of  course 
he  knew  that  his  beloved  master  was  gone.  To  this 
day  I  see  the  long  procession  wending  its  way  through 
the  village  streets  to  the  cemetery  where  my  little 
brother  lay.  Not  carriages — yes,  some — but  what 
meant  more,  every  description  of  pioneer  and  farm 
wagon,  even  to  the  ox  cart.  The  owners  of  all  were 
there  to  show  respect  to  his  memory  and  to  tell  of  the 
great  love  they  bore  him.  If  the  honors  paid  after 
death  are  worth  while,  then  give  me  the  tribute  of 
affection,  esteem,  confidence  and  respect  which  the 
village  and  countryside  pays  the  finest  expression  of 
a  medical  man's  life,  the  country  practitioner.  I  would 
be  glad  to  know,  did  It  make  any  difference  that  my 
body  was  to  be  followed  to  its  last  resting  place  by  a 
gathering  of  such  sincere  and  rugged  souls  and  not 
perfunctorily  cared  for  by  paid  hirelings.  And  so  he 
was  laid  to  rest  in  the  forest  embowered  cemetery, 
near  the  homes  of  the  people  he  had  cared  for,  to  one 


130 


AUTOBIOGRAPHY  OF  A  NEURASTHENE 

of  whom  his  last  professional  service  was  rendered 
that  cost  him  his  life. 

I  lay  in  my  bed  quietly  recalling  all  this  and  pic- 
turing how  the  many  friends  of  my  mother  from  the 
home  she  sought  after  my  father's  death  in  order  that 
her  daughters  might  have  better  educational  advan- 
tages than  were  possible  in  the  village  near  where  we 
were  born,  would  accompany  her  and  my  sisters,  how 
they  would  be  joined  by  family  friends  still  living 
near  the  old  home  and  by  many  who  had  known  my 
father.  It  was  a  beautiful  day  and  afterwards  I 
knew,  but  not  for  a  long  time  as  my  physician  did  not 
let  the  nurse  read  me  the  home  letters  that  at  sunset 
time  they  left  her  with  rose-crowned  coffin,  seventy- 
six  American  beauty  roses,  the  number  of  her  years 
and  the  offering  of  her  youngest  sister  to  rest  by  him 
who  had  won  her  heart  so  many  years  before  and 
with  whom  she  had  borne  all  the  privations  and  toil 
of  the  pioneer  physician's  life.  To  all  who  Icnew  her 
she  was  blessed  and  no  matter  who  came  into  her  life, 
they  soon  fell  as  those  before  them  into  the  habit  of 
speaking  of  her  always  as  mother . 

There  was  but  little  said  by  my  physician  or  my- 
self— just  a  little  warmer  hand  clasp  and  the  quiet  re- 
mark, with  a  suggestion  of  his  usual  smile,  "Mothers 
should  never  die."  Later  on  when  stronger,  the  nurse 
who  had  known  my  mother  and  family  well,  told  me 
of  the  letters  from  home,  of  the  messages  sent  me, 

131 


AUTOBIOGRAPHY  OF  A  NEURASTHENE 

but  It  was  many  weeks  before  the  letter  telling  me  of 
her  short  illness,  her  peaceful  dropping  to  sleep  and 
of  the  last  sad  rites,  fragrant  with  the  loving  kindly 
acts  of  her  lifelong  friends,  among  them  the  father 
of  the  little  baby  whose  cradle  I  used  to  watch  and 
wonder  if  I  could  revenge  myself  on  him  because  of 
his  mother's  treatment  of  me  as  child  at  school,  as 
well  as  those  of  later  years.  Of  these  one  said  to  my 
sister:  "Your  mother  must  have  thought  beautiful 
thoughts  to  have  such  a  sweet  happy  look  remain  on 
her  face."  The  wealth  of  white  pinks  and  tea  roses, 
the  parting  thought  of  my  sisters  for  one  who  dearly 
loved  flowers  and  every  thing  beautiful  were  dropped 
gently  into  the  evergreen  lined  grave  by  my  little 
nephews,  her  grandsons,  one  of  whom  crept  close  to 
his  mother's  side,  whispering  softly:  Oh,  see  mama, 
the  grave  is  all  mossy."  How  much  more  appropri- 
ate, more  beautiful,  to  await  the  transformation  of 
energy,  through  which  our  bodies  must  pass  in  so 
simple  and  natural  an  environment,  than  in  casket 
after  casket  of  the  least  perishable  materials  placed 
within  the  hermetically  sealed  tomb  or  vault,  the  ex- 
pense of  which  is  enormous  and  is  often  met,  by  per- 
mitting the  physician  who  has  sacrified  time  and 
health  in  his  care  during  life  to  wait  weary  months 
for  his  much  needed  honorarium. 


132 


CHAPTER  TEN 

^7/  does  not  matter  so  long  as  you  do  not  hate  the 
other'' 

THE  late  fall,  winter  and  spring  following 
my  complete  fiasco,  was  a  very  busy  one 
in  its  professional  relation  both  in  my 
office,  at  my  clinic  and  in  my  lecture 
room.  They  were  filled  to  the  brim. 
The  doctor  wisely  permitted  me  to  go  to  my  office  for 
two  hours  each  morning  as  soon  as  I  had  stored  up  a 
sufficient  reserve  of  nerve  force  in  order  that  I  might 
sit  and  direct  the  care  of  my  patients.  I  was  not  per- 
mitted to  do  any  actual  work  after  my  consultation 
with  the  patient  had  led  to  the  formation  of  an  opin- 
ion other  than  in  the  direction  of  his  or  her  care.  I 
had  a  good  assistant  in  the  person  of  a  very  capable 
man,  the  son  and  brother  of  dear  friends.  He  served 
my  needs  off  and  on  not  only  in  such  ways,  but  in 
many  an  act  of  brotherly  kindness  from  the  year  pre- 
ceding my  crash  until  his  death  from  acute  Bright's 
disease  seven  years  later.  I  was  not  allowed  to  see 
him  during  his  illness,  although  in  his  delirium  he 
constantly  called  me  by  name  asking  where  I  was. 
The  attending  physicians  one  of  whom  had  been  my 

133 


AUTOBIOGRAPHY  OF  A  NEURASTHENE 

student  and  the  other  for  whose  mother  I  had  cared 
professionally  as  well  as  my  own  physician,  refused 
their  consent  to  my  visiting  him,  because  they  all  felt 
that  the  effect  upon  me  would  be  disastrous.  The  last 
time  I  saw  him  in  my  office  just  a  short  time  before  his 
illness,  he  told  me  of  his  suffering,  saying:  "I  cannot 
stand  it  any  longer,  doctor;  another  night  like  last 
and  I  shall  get  out  of  it."  The  dearest  son,  brother 
and  friend  in  his  late  thirties,  had  shipwrecked  his  life 
when  still  quite  young  and  long  before  he  studied 
medicine  by  marrying  the  wrong  woman.  This  hap- 
pens too  often.  Marriage  after  all  is  just  like  life — a 
gamble — and  one  takes  the  gambler's  chance.  Those 
who  win  recognize  the  truth  of  this  just  as  well  as 
those  who  fail. 

When  they  told  me  he  had  finished  life's  battle,  I 
sent  beautiful  fragrant  flowers  and  went  despite  my 
utter  lack  of  reserve  strength  to  comfort  the  mother 
and  sisters  my  patients  as  well  as  friends,  bat  I  was 
not  permitted  to  go  to  his  home,  nor  to  attend  the  last 
sad  rites.  For  that  matter  I  had  to  hold  myself  aloof 
from  death  all  these  years.  No !  I  am  not  afraid  to 
die  nor  of  it,  but  always  there  has  been  the  need  must 
and  my  nerve  force  could  not  be  trifled  with  in  any 
way.  I  have  missed  and  still  miss  him  sadly,  for  I 
had  looked  forward  by  reason  of  my  seniority  as  well 
as  his  good  qualities  to  his  ultimately  taking  and  car- 
ing for  the  practice  which  I  had  built  up. 

134 


AUTOBIOGRAPHY  OF  A  NEURASTHENE 

Lying  on  a  couch  in  my  office  with  him  for  my 
assistant  to  take  all  steps,  I  began  my  work.  As  energy 
increased  I  kept  my  entire  office  hour,  the  conven- 
tional one  from  nine  to  one  often  going  over  until  two 
o'clock.     But  I  lacked  in  content  and  one  day  when 
the  doctor  came  in  response  to  his  various  queries,  I 
said  "I  am  so  ennuied,  doctor,  that  life  is  insupport- 
able."    With  a  prevision  for  which  I  have  always 
been  grateful,  he  said  after  a  little  kindly  talk,  "very 
well,  you  may  resume  your  clinic  and  teaching  next 
week".     What  a  joy  I  felt  that  once  more  I  could 
enter  the  arena.    Up  to  this  time  I  had  been  obliged 
by  his  direction  to  go  to  my  bedroom  and  lie  there 
quietly  for  the  earlier  afternoon  hours,   recharging 
my  exhausted  storage  cells.     Towards  four  to  five 
o'clock  I  made  my  toilette  in  a  lovely  soft  cashmere 
teagown  of  becoming  color,  and  went  to  my  library. 
There  upon  my  return   from  my  first  clinic  day  I 
found  a  hammock,  the  money  for  which  my  sister  had 
sent  while  I  was  so  ill  to  buy  fruit  and  flowers,  but 
which  my  sensible  nurse  refused  to  use  in  that  way  as 
fruit  she  said  I  had  to  provide  for  myself,  flowers  I 
could  do  without,  and  the  hammock  I  needed.     In 
collusion  with  my  assistant  it  had  been  purchased  and 
stretched   diagonally  across   my  library  a   room   of 
noble  proportions,  just  in  front  of  the  fire  place,  that 
I  might  bask  in  the  warmth,  glow  and  cheer  of  my 

grate  fire. 

135 


AUTOBIOGRAPHY  OF  A  NEURASTHENE 

There  I  spent  the  little  time  that  was  left  of  the 
afternoons  of  my  clinic,  almost  all  of  the  four  other 
afternoons  and  all  my  evenings  absolutely  idle,  save  as 
I  have  indicated.  There  the  few  choice  spirits,  the 
dear  ones  came  to  me  for  a  moment  or  two,  some- 
times later  on  when  stronger  for  an  hour  or  more. 
They  expected  naught  of  me,  I  did  not  have  to  get 
up  to  talk  unless  I  felt  equal  to  the  effort.  This  life 
might  and  often  does  make  one  inordinately  selfish 
and  I  said  one  evening  to  a  scientific  friend  who  often 
came  and  whom  I  knew  well:  "Do  you  know  I  have 
grown  very  selfish  since  all  this  happened."  "No," 
he  replied,  "you  have  only  learned  the  art  of  self- 
defense."  Dear  me,  it  is  an  art  I  have  had  and  still 
have  to  practice.  But  the  saving  clause  in  my  case 
was  actively  in  evidence  always.  It  is  impossible  to 
minister  to  the  needs  of  others  as  a  conscientious  phy- 
sician must  and  become  very  selfish,  especially  when 
from  eight  to  ten  hours  a  week  are  given  to  the  needs 
of  those  who  come  without  money  or  price  as  in  dis- 
pensary work.  Sometimes  I  animadvert  upon  my 
profession  because  of  their  many  failures  in  relation 
to  their  patients,  but  more  times  I  bow  down  to  the 
Christ-like  expression  of  very  much  of  their  profes- 
sional work  and  relation  to  human  needs.  That  they 
fail  sometimes  should  never — unless  there  is  culpable, 
ignorant  and  criminal  conduct — be  charged  up 
against  them.     They  are  not  infallible — no  one  is, 

136 


AUTOBIOGRAPHY  OF  A  NEURASTHENE 

and  ''human  experience,  like  the  stern  lights  of  a  ship 
at  sea,  illumines  only  the  path  which  we  have  passed 
over."  Fundamental  training  no  matter  how  thor- 
ough and  good  never  takes  the  place  of  this  experi- 
ence. 

Later  on  my  first  hammock  gave  place  to  the  white 
one  from  South  America.  One  evening,  the  one  of 
the  doctor's  Vv^eekly  visit,  found  me  there  as  usual. 
It  was  my  natal  day.  I  have  a  foolish  habit  of  never 
ignoring  my  milestones,  although  each  one  takes  me  a 
year  further  on  in  life's  journey  and  a  year  nearer  the 
end  of  all  that  I  love  so  much.  He  came  to  my  ham- 
mock as  usual  to  greet  me,  and  I  saw  when  he  passed 
the  intervening  library  table  that  he  held  in  his  hand 
a  magnificent  bunch  of  American  Beauty  roses.  In- 
voluntarily my  hands  went  up  and  I  cradled  them  in 
my  arms  with  an  exclamation  of  delight.  It  seemed 
incredible  that  such  a  busy  professional  man  could 
take  the  time  and  the  thought  to  bring  me  a  "posy". 
My  hard  matter  of  fact  life  and  relation  to  human 
needs,  which  justly  or  unjustly  to  myself  I  recognized 
as  greater  than  mine  own  had  resulted  in  an  almost 
complete  deprivation  of  all  the  little  attentions  and 
devotions  which  women  love.  Perhaps  this  was  my 
fault  for  I  was  intensely  and  most  earnestly  devoted 
to  my  profession.  My  practice  grew,  and  borrowed 
moneys  were  gradually  returned.  In  this  I  had  great 
satisfaction  and  comfort. 

137 


AUTOBIOGRAPHY  OF  A  NEURASTHENE 

But  as  the  busy  months  slipped  by,  I  grew  unut- 
terbly  weary.  Spring  came,  bringing  with  It  the 
recognition  on  the  part  of  my  physician  and  myself 
that  I  would  have  to  have  a  vacation  for  this  one 
summer  whatever  happened  In  the  future. 

When  I  told  him  that  a  patient  wished  me  to  go 
with  her  and  her  family  In  order  to  help  her  back 
to  health  to  a  private  club  In  the  Adlrondacks  for 
July  and  August,  he  at  once  encouraged  my  going. 
One  morning  In  June  I  was  much  less  well  and  my 
exhausted  Irritable  heart  muscle  was  acting  badly,  he 
came  In  during  my  office  hour  to  see  me.  I  received 
him  In  my  consultation  room  Instead  of  the  library, 
as  patients  were  waiting  to  be  seen  and  cared  for. 
After  looking  me  over,  the  question  came  up  as  to 
whether  I  had  given  my  patient  an  answer.  To  this 
I  replied  that  I  had  not,  and  when  he  rather  urged  It 
upon  me,  out  of  the  depths  of  my  pathological  sub- 
mergement,  I  replied  that  It  seemed  to  me.  If  I  did 
It,  I  should  hate  my  sex  as  long  as  I  lived.  To  which 
came  the  prompt  retort,  "It  does  not  matter  so  long 
as  you  do  not  hate  the  other."  However,  It  was  ulti- 
mately decided  that  I  should  go  because  it  meant  less 
financial  strain  than  would  otherwise  have  obtained. 
Still  there  were  several  talks  before  It  was  fully  de- 
cided, for  I  did  not  want  to  go,  I  was  very  weary 
and  at  that  time  I  had  not  grown  so  accustomed  to 
unutterable  fatigue  as  since  and  In  my  Innermost  self 

138 


AUTOBIOGRAPHY  OF  A  NEURASTHENE 

I  rebelled.  Days  of  rain  and  dampness  accentu- 
ated all  my  weariness  and  pain,  as  it  always  does, 
for  I  am  essentially  a  child  of  the  sun.  He  came  in 
one  afternoon  during  all  this  gloom  and  wetness.  The 
answer  had  to  be  given  to  my  patient.  He  still  en- 
couraged my  going  and  finally  in  desperation  at  the 
thought  of  continued  professional  care,  I  said  "we 
must  be  sure  to  do  the  right  thing  this  summer,  doc- 
tor, for  we  made  a  mistake  last  summer,"  to  which 
he  promptly  replied:  "Yes,  I  made  two  but  I  buried 
the  other  one".  My  sense  of  humor  came  to  the  front 
again,  I  laughed  and  said:     "Very  well,  I  will  go." 

With  the  first  of  July  I  went  to  the  Adirondacks, 
finding  the  patient  and  her  family  as  arranged.  The 
journey  nearly  killed  me,  the  heat  on  the  train  was 
well  nigh  insupportable;  the  stay  at  the  little  hotel 
from  which  I  was  to  take  the  stage  the  next  morning 
for  the  lake  bordered  and  mountain-environed  club 
house  far  from  comfortable  while  the  cuisine  offered 
nothing  to  tempt  my  appetite.  However,  it  was  all 
done,  and  I  arrived  In  the  late  afternoon  after  the 
drive  through  the  beautiful  mountain  land  with  all  its 
varied  interest  in  time  to  see  the  sunset's  reflected 
glory  mirrored  In  the  bosom  of  the  mountain  lake. 

I  experienced  the  delicious  sense  of  community  with 
my  kind  from  the  warmth  and  cordiality  of  the  greet- 
ing of  my  patient  and  her  family.  After  refreshing 
myself  with  necessary  ablutions  and  toilette  my  even- 

139 


AUTOBIOGRAPHY  OF  A  NEURASTHENE 

ing  meal  which  had  been  kept  after  the  usual  time  for 
me  on  account  of  the  lateness  of  my  arrival  was 
served.  While  eating  but  little  I  not  only  was  but  am 
absolutely  dependent  upon  quality  as  well  as  regu- 
larity. I  had  always  had  it.  Impaired  appetite  and 
weakened  digestion  made  it  necessary.  Cold  unin- 
viting food  prejudiced  my  digestion  for  days,  weeks 
even,  and  still  would  if  I  permitted  myself  to  be 
placed  where  I  should  have  to  partake  of  it.  But 
the  years  of  handicap  have  given  me  independence  of 
thought  and  action,  so  far  as  these  material  things  are 
concerned,  as  experience  has  taught  me  that  I  can 
not  afford  a  different  course.  My  room  was  a  great 
disappointment  as  it  was  on  the  first  floor  and  so 
placed  as  to  receive  but  little  sunshine.  I  consoled 
myself,  however,  by  the  thought  of  the  long  beautiful 
hours  I  should  spend  out  of  doors  when  my  daily  pro- 
fessional duty  was  done,  but  I  did  not  reckon  with 
the  days  and  days  of  downpour,  characteristic  of 
mountain  and  lake  countries  in  wet  seasons.  Scarcely 
a  day  but  it  rained,  and  it  was  the  wettest  rain  I  had 
ever  known.  Everything  dripped  with  moisture,  the 
skies,  the  trees,  while  an  enveloping  dampness  was 
everywhere.  We  scarcely  ever  went  on  a  nearby  pic- 
nic excursion  in  the  woods  or  for  a  row  on  the  beau- 
tiful lake,  but  it  rained,  rained;  while  all  the  creep- 
ing,  biting   creatures   that   inhabit  the   Ad^irondack 

woods  in  July  were  most  actively  in  evidence.     Mos- 

140 


AUTOBIOGRAPHY  OF  A  NEURASTHENE 

quitos,  gnats  and  the  familiar  little  black  fly,  all  were 
there  and  all  conspired  to  make  my  sensitive  body 
and  nerves  hurt  afresh.  Then  there  were  the  hosts 
of  creeping  things  that  came  out  suddenly  from  under 
the  little  growing  things,  worms  and  beetles  galore, 
as  well  as  snakes.  I  had  known  all  these  creatures 
intimately  from  my  childhood  up,  had  never  been 
afraid  of  them,  preferred  snakes  to  worms  and  had 
never  been  willing  to  impale  the  latter  when  I  had 
spent  idle  hours  on  the  banks  of  an  inland  stream,  a 
mountain  brook,  or  off  the  rocky  coast  of  Maine, 
upon  my  fish  hook.  They  were  so  cold  and  soft  that 
they  gave  me  a  sense  of  having  touched  some  unclean 
and  dead  thing.  This  is  an  impression  which  has 
remained,  and  at  one  stage  of  my  prolonged  conva- 
lescence was  so  great  that  to  find  a  worm  in  the  nuts 
which  I  sometimes  had  served  for  my  desert,  threw 
me  into  a  perfect  terror.  I  recall  one  evening,  the 
regular  one  for  my  physician's  weekly  visit,  he  was 
vQry  late  and  my  faithtful  "Ti"  had  served  my  din- 
ner. I  knew^  by  my  growing  weakness  and  depres- 
sion that  I  needed  food.  Nuts  were  served  that  even- 
ing and  inside  one  of  them  w^hich  I  took  up  to  eat 
was  coiled  a  big  fat  white  worm.  Involuntarily  I 
threw  it  from  me,  sprang  up  from  the  table,  shiv- 
ering with  terror,  and  caring  nothing  for  the  com- 
pletion of  my  dinner.     For  a  moment  I  walked  back 

and  forth  in  the  library  adjoining  my  dining  room 

141 
10 


AUTOBIOGRAPHY  OF  A  NEURASTHENE 

but  shrinking  from  going  into  the  latter  w^ith  a 
horrible  dread  because  that  grewsome  thing  was 
crawling  somewhere  on  the  floor.  I  rang  the  bell, 
ordered  the  doors  closed,  the  table  cleared,  told  "Ti" 
to  find  and  remove  a  nut  I  had  dropped  on  the  floor, 
sat  down  at  my  ever-ready  writing  table  and  formu- 
lated my  wish  that  when  I  died  my  body  should  be 
cremated,  signed  it,  and  when  the  Doctor  came  as 
he  did  later,  asked  him  to  please  sign  the  statement 
as  a  witness,  which  he  did  without  question  when  I 
told  him  what  had  led  me  to  do  it.  That  paper  re- 
mains with  my  business  papers  to  this  day,  for  I  suf- 
fered much  mental  anguish  in  relation  to  the  processes 
through  which  our  bodies  pass,  when  my  dear  gra- 
cious lady  of  whom  I  have  written  died.  At  the  time 
of  my  mother's  death  my  horizon  was  limited  to  the 
passing  thought,  and  I  did  not  trouble  about  these 
things. 

It  is  true  that  I  was  very  worn  and  exhausted  at  this 
time,  but  such  conduct  as  this  had  never  been  my  cus- 
tom. I  did  not  like  the  little  reptiles,  but  I  ignored 
them  when  well.  With  exhaustion  of  neuronic  en- 
ergy, will  power  was  more  or  less  in  abeyance,  and 
untoward  impressions  and  happenings  could  not  be 
met  in  a  calm  and  rational  manner.  Snakes  I  have 
always  known.  I  fancy  most  of  us  have  since  the 
Garden  of  Eden.     I  mean  this  literally,  however,  for 

the  pioneer  prairie  home  of  my  childhood  was  in- 

142 


AUTOBIOGRAPHY  OF  A  NEURASTHENE 

fested  with  snakes  and  chief  among  them  I  recall  the 
inoffensive  garter  snake,  the  rattlesnake,  and  the  im- 
mense black  snake  like  the  great  cowhide  whip  of  the 
drivers  of  vehicles  of  primitive  constructions  which 
were  drawn  by  oxen.  Rattlesnakes  abounded,  and 
they  were  killed  every  day  in  the  garden,  orchard  or 
on  the  farm.  Often  when  hunting  strawberries  or 
gathering  wild  flowers,  I  heard  their  warning  rat- 
tle, and  young  as  I  was  I  knew  that  to  advance  or 
interfere  meant  danger.  But  they  did  not  trouble 
me,  nor  did  I  dislike  them  as  I  did  worms,  while  to 
the  bete  noire  of  most  women,  mice  I  paid  no  atten- 
tion w^hatever;  did  not  mind  but  enjoyed  them  and 
their  play. 

In  my  exhausted  condition  bugs  and  creeping 
things  troubled  me.  It  was  when  I  retired,  that 
the  worse  befell  for  my  bed  perfectly  suited  to 
the  sportsmen  and  those  in  health,  whether  men  or 
women  was  impossible  for  me.  I  tried  my  best  to 
get  used  to  it  but  it  was  so  hard  bumpy  and  uncom- 
fortable that  I  hurt  and  ached  all  the  time  in  every 
nerve  trunk  and  could  not  sleep.  An  effort  was 
made  after  a  few  nights  to  make  it  more  comforta- 
ble for  me  but  the  necessary  means  were  lacking.  The 
first  days  slipped  into  a  week,  then  into  two  weeks, 
and  finally  I  almost  never  slept  going  to  sleep  per- 
haps at  midnight  and  wakening  at  three  or  four 
o'clock  in  the  morning,  while  to  close  my  eyes  was  to 

143 


AUTOBIOGRAPHY  OF  A  NEURASTHENE 

see  all  the  bugs,  spiders  and  creeping  things  of  Infi- 
nitely greater  magnitude  of  proportions  and  horrible 
appearance  than  In  reality.  It  was  a  regular  case  of 
what  I  am  In  the  habit  of  terming  "jIm  jams",  a  con- 
dition which  has  made  me  very  tolerant  of  the  ter- 
rors of  patients  even  those  of  the  alcoholic.  The 
altitude  was  more  than  my  weakened  circulatory  ap- 
paratus could  bear,  my  head  ached  constantly,  I  had 
no  peace,  nor  joy;  was  just  "pretty  miserable  thank 
God."  The  professional  work  taxed  my  little  strength 
and  became  Intensely  repugnant  to  me.  I  wrote  my 
physician  of  all  these  things,  saying  If  he  felt  that 
the  environing  conditions  were  prejudicial  and  the 
altitude  bad,  tending  to  increase  my  cerebral  conges- 
tion, to  write,  expressing  his  opinion  and  saying  what 
I  should  do  as  I  did  not  wish  my  patient  to  think  I 
was  leaving  her  unnecessarily.  She  knew  that  I  was 
far  from  well,  and  she  needed  me  much  less  than  I 
needed  rest  and  care.  The  answer  came  promptly, 
directing  me  to  come  home  at  once.  This  I  did  and 
after  a  few  days  In  the  city  went  to  the  quaint  little 
village  of  Slasconset  at  the  extreme  end  of  Nan- 
tucket to  spend  the  month  of  August. 

The  journey  was  exhausting,  but  the  Sunday  af- 
ternoon of  my  arrival  was  divinely  beautiful  and  the 
air  of  that  ocean  environed  land  at  its  far  eastern  and 
southern   extremity,   the   most   delicious   I   had  ever 

144 


AUTOBIOGRAPHY  OF  A  NEURASTHENE 

breathed.  Not  even  on  ship  board  had  it  seemed  so 
pure  and  hfe  giving. 

I  spent  the  month  of  August  and  the  first  week  of 
September  there,  taking  after  the  first  three  days'  of 
hotel  discomfort  a  furnished  cottage  for  the  balance 
of  the  season  and  in  addition  to  rest  playing  at  home- 
keeping,  while  Incidentally  in  order  to  gratify  my  de- 
sire for  achievement  as  well  as  to  meet  a  duty  I  com- 
pleted a  piece  of  writing. 

It  was  a  beautiful  restful  holiday.  No  !  I  was  not 
always  equal — far  from  it — and  some  days  it  was 
with  difficulty  I  found  my  way  to  the  beach,  but  when 
I  could  not,  there  was  my  hammock  on  the  verandah, 
the  life-giving  ocean  breezes  and  radiance  was  the 
rule.  xAugust  was  compensating  for  July.  Of  the 
people  I  met  a  few  kindred  souls  were  cultivated,  but 
I  found  that  Nature,  the  home-keeping,  my  books 
and  writing  sufficed  for  the  most  part. 

Towards  the  end  of  my  stay,  the  first  days  of  Sep- 
tember, there  were  severe  storms  and  wTecks.  These 
with  the  nev^er  failing  whale  prevented  the  possibility 
of  monotony.  As  I  sat  by  my  drift  wood  fire  In  the 
evening  reading  one  of  Stevenson's  stories  of  ship- 
wreck and  murder  the  roar  of  the  ocean,  the  breaking 
of  tremendous  tides  along  the  shore  and  the  sweep  of 
the  wind  over  all  enveloped  and  environed  me,  pro- 
viding most  a  realistic  atmosphere.  There  was  also 
suggested  by  the  characteristic  coloring  of  the  flames 

145 


AUTOBIOGRAPHY  OF  A  NEURASTHENE 

of  the  burning  sea  saturated  drift  wood  the  beautiful 
and  fairy  like  tales  of  chemical  science.  Sometimes 
the  tragedy  of  shipwreck  in  connection  with  the 
tumult  in  nature  depressed  me  greatly,  but  quite  as 
often  in  my  thought  I  was  ready  to  do  battle  with  the 
life-saving  boat  and  crew  for  those  who  were  endan- 
gered. 

The  next  day  In  my  idle  lounging  on  the  beach 
every  bit  of  wreckage  no  matter  how  trivial  brought 
me  a  message  from  the  sea. 

I  came  home  very  much  refreshed  and  looking  bet- 
ter, but  of  course  with  very  limited  reserve  which 
under  the  pressure  of  work  was  daily  exhausted.  It 
proved  to  be  really  the  only  out  and  out  rest  and  holi- 
day I  have  had  In  all  these  years.  I  have  been  away, 
yes  !  but  every  time  there  has  been  a  professional  duty 
attached  and  as  told  In  a  subsequent  chapter  a  business 
as  well  as  professional  duty.  But  I  do  not  repine, 
only  of  this  I  am  sure  that  this  summer  the  most  rest- 
ful and  enjoyable  conditions  which  I  can  command 
shall  environ  me.  Just  now  desire  takes  the  form  of 
a  simple  furnished  cottage,  not  too  remote  from  the 
heart  throb  of  the  big  city  to  which  I  am  accustomed, 
not  too  Isolated  topographically,  nor  yet  gregariously, 
where  I  can  see  the  first  of  the  dawn,  the  rising  and 
the  setting  sun,  the  dew  on  the  grass,  the  star-lit  night, 
watch  the  clouds  drifting  Idly  above  me,  listen  to  the 

song  of  the  birds,  feel  the  fresh  untainted  air  all  about 

146 


AUTOBIOGRAPHY  OF  A  NEURASTHENE 

me,  busy  myself  with  simple  "homey"  duties,  cook 
even  if  I  wish,  play  I  am  a  woman  not  a  doctor,  read, 
write,  have  my  music,  lie  in  my  hammock  or  walk  and 
drive  as  conditions  are  best  met,  and  best  of  all  bring 
the  few  friends  whom  I  love  so  dearly  and  who  meet 
my  needs  so  well  about  me  for  friendly  communings. 
Never  before  in  my  life  have  I  wished  for  all  these 
things  more  or  as  much.  That  this  is  true,  is  due  to 
the  fact  that  a  few  years  since  I  had  to  give  up  the 
housekeeping  in  order  that  neuronic  energy  might 
encompass  all  other  duties.  I  miss  the  home  feeling 
it  gave  me  beyond  words  and  can  not  for  one  moment 
enter  into  sympathy  with  the  hotel  and  apartment 
dweller.  Just  a  little  house  and  a  tiny  acreage  with 
content  and  happiness  environing  me  is  my  heart's 
desire. 


147 


CHAPTER  ELEVEN 

^^You  shall  find  them  Wise  on  the  one  Side,  and  Fools 
on  the  Other." 

Burton,  Anatomy  of  Melancholy. 

''Think  with  the  other  Side.'' 

I  HAVE  never  in  all  these  years  been  allowed 
even  if  I  would  have  done  so  had  I  been  left 
to  care  for  myself  entirely,  to  get  notions 
about  any  disability  I  possessed.  On  the  con- 
trary, I  have  often  felt  that  I  was  to  be  com- 
pared with  a  young  robin  in  its  nest  being  urged  to  fly 
by  its  ambitious  mother,  and  as  occasionally  happens 
even  when  following  nature's  laws  undue  urgency  has 
resulted  disastrously.  My  physician  believed,  as  I  do 
myself,  that  it  was  best  to  make  diligent  effort.  Some- 
times disaster  has  come.  The  neurasthene  who  gets 
reasonably  well  on  his  feet  is  after  all  best  equipped 
for  life's  battle.  The  hardest  cases  I  have  had  to 
take  care  of  professionally  are  those  who  have  ac- 
quired the  rest  cure  habit.  I  have  a  physician  under 
care  now,  this  time  a  woman,  who  regrets  piteously 
that  she  was  not  given  something  to  feed  her  intelli- 
gences instead  of  an  unqualified  rest  cure.     Her  con- 

148 


AUTOBIOGRAPHY  OF  A  NEURASTHENE 

dition  at  no  time  approached  that  of  mine,  but  to-day 
I  am  Infinitely  stronger  and  more  self-reliant  than 
she.  I  am  a  constant  surprise  to  all  my  friends  and 
patients  because  of  the  amount  of  work  I  do.  Every- 
body thinks  I  do  it  easily,  but  that  Is  far  from  being 
true.  When  it  comes  to  work  with  my  pen  once  I  get 
Into  the  thought  or  swing  of  It  according  as  it  Is  strict- 
ly scientific  or  more  along  these  lines,  If  not  disturbed, 
I  work  readily  and  happily. 

The  years  following  the  complete  exhaustion  of  my 
supreme  nerve  centres  w^ere  spent  in  hard  work  dur- 
ing the  office  hours  and  In  my  clinic  days,  but  almost 
every  moment  other  than  the  need  of  being  in  evi- 
dence at  the  one  or  the  other  had  to  be  spent  in  the 
quiet  of  my  own  home  usually  save  for  a  siesta,  in  my 
library  where  my  white  hammock  was  invitingly 
stretched  before  a  beautiful  grate  fire  of  anthracite. 
In  a  negligee  of  the  softest  fabric  an  actual  necessity 
for  I  was  sensitive  and  hurt  all  over  and  with  the 
Sybarite  would  have  been  conscious  if  there  had  been 
even  a  crumpled  rose  leaf  under  me,  I  alternated  be- 
tween the  big  Morris  chair  and  the  hammock.  My 
hands  would  drop  languidly  by  my  side  after  a  few 
moments'  attempt  to  hold  a  paper,  magazine  or  book, 
and  I  simply  drifted.  The  servants  would  come  for 
an  order  or  my  nurse  friend  drop  in  occasionally  for  a 
little  chat,  but  as  a  rule  my  quiet  was  rarely  disturbed 

In  the  afternoon  and  but  little  In  the  evening  then 

149 


AUTOBIOGRAPHY  OF  A  NEURASTHENE 

only  by  the  few  friends  so  near  and  dear,  whose  spirits 
were  of  the  finest  and  most  congenial.  This  sounds 
self-indulgent,  but  it  was  not  for  the  mornings  and 
three  afternoons  were  spent  in  the  hardest  kind  of 
work  and  I  had  no  choice  in  the  intervening  after- 
noons and  all  evenings  but  to  lay  down  my  arms. 

One  evening  at  the  usual  hour  of  his  professional 
call  on  his  way  home  to  dinner  the  doctor  had  risen 
to  go,  I  left  my  hammock  and  at  the  same  time  was 
responding  to  what  he  said.  I  was  very  tired  and  it 
was  my  dinner  hour.  Although  eating  but  little,  it 
was  necessary  to  have  that  little  at  the  moment  it  was 
due  and  after  the  first  few  weeks  I  have  not  at  any 
time  been  in  the  habit  of  pouring  down  at  more  or 
less  frequent  intervals  milk,  raw  eggs  or  fermented 
milk.  I  could  only  take  care  of  so  much  food,  and  my 
good  was  prejudiced  by  adding  a  fraction  of  an  ounce 
to  my  regime  just  as  it  was  by  permitting  the  intimate 
presence  of  others  than  my  closest  friends  for  short 
visits,  by  staying  up  after  my  regular  hour  for  retir- 
ing or  by  expending  a  fraction  of  a  foot  pound  of 
energy  after  the  necessary  work  for  the  day  was  done. 
This  evening  I  could  not  catch  my  thought  and  there 
was  an  Indescribable  sensation  of  exhaustion  and  dis- 
tress in  the  part  of  my  brain  which  had  been  most 
actively  congested.  Involuntarily  my  hand  went  to 
that  part  of  my  head  when  the  doctor  said  with  his 

reassuring  smile,   "Think  with  the  other  side".     I 

150 


AUTOBIOGRAPHY  OF  A  NEURASTHENE 

have  had  to  do  it  many  times  and  I  have  never  allow- 
ed any  part  of  it  to  fall  into  disuse.  It  would  have 
been  very  easy  all  along  the  way  because  of  the  ex- 
haustion and  fatigue  which  gripped  me. 

One  afternoon  while  at  my  clinic  with  physician 
students  all  about  me  and  every  room  full  of  patients, 
I  was  taken  very  ill  with  an  intolerable  distress  in  my 
head  accompanied  by  a  severe  congestive  chill.  It  so 
happened  that  my  nurse  friend  had  dropped  in  that 
afternoon.  She  left  me  w^th  my  most  capable  assist- 
ant, the  son  and  brother  of  dear  friends  to  whom  I 
have  referred,  saying  she  would  go  to  her  apartment, 
leave  necessary  instructions  as  to  her  w^hereabouts, 
and  also  a  message  for  the  doctor  to  see  me  and  then 
come  to  me  for  the  night. 

My  assistant  got  a  carriage  and  accompanied  me 
home.  I  shook  so  violently  that  my  tired  sensitive 
body  hurt  all  over  and  I  was  utterly  worn.  The  re- 
lief of  being  met  at  my  own  door  in  response  to  the 
bell,  by  a  flash  of  light  and  my  capable  Japanese  ser- 
vant "TI"  of  blessed  memory,  for  so  I  always  think 
of  him  the  first  and  best  in  rather  an  extensive  experi- 
ence with  them,  w^as  great.  He  immediately  lighted 
the  library  fire  w^hile  I  was  helped  to  my  hammock. 
The  comfort  and  luxury  of  it  all.  For  just  a  little  to 
be  watched  and  tended,  to  bask  in  the  warmth  and 
glow  of  the  fire  and  a  few  minutes  later  to  have  the 
comfort  of  a  favorite  tipple — a  cup  of  freshly  boiled 

151 


AUTOBIOGRAPHY  OF  A  NEURASTHENE 

hot  water.  It  seemed  worth  while  to  have  suffered 
for  the  sake  of  all  this  comfort.  I  had  had  but  little 
experience  of  being  cared  for  in  these  ways,  for  I  al- 
ways had  cared  for  others.  In  their  rare  occurrence 
they  were  like  angels  visits  few  and  far  between  and 
appreciated  to  the  full.  I  remember  experiencing  the 
same  sensation  as  a  child  when  I  had  the  measles, 
after  very  excruciating  earache  to  which  I  was  more 
or  less  prone  and  in  convalescence  from  an  attack  of 
membranous  croup  which  would  have  cost  me  my  life 
but  for  my  mother's  (my  father  was  absent  on  pro- 
fessional duty)  presence  of  mind. 

In  due  time  the  nurse  returned,  I  was  made  com- 
fortable in  a  negligee,  and  a  little  later  the  doctor 
came.  The  story  was  told,  my  irritable  heart  action 
noted,  a  prescription  written,  a  humorous  remark  as 
well  as  a  reassuring  comforting  word  and  I  was  or- 
dered to  bed.  I  kept  my  office  hours  as  usual  the  next 
morning  although  pretty  wan  and  worn.  But  I  did 
it  and  have  every  day  of  my  life  other  than  some 
Sundays  and  the  few  weeks  I  was  kept  in  bed.  This 
has  been  true  through  seven  or  eight  successive  at- 
tacks of  grippe,  my  arch  enemy.  Because  of  my 
lowered  vitality  and  resistance  I  fell  an  easy  prey 
to  any  grippe  microbe  wandering  my  way.  Several 
times  I  was  violently  ill,  chills,  temperature,  malaise 
and  pain  requiring  a  long  weary  pull  toi  get  back  to 
my  usual  condition.     No  doubt  the  attacks  would 

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AUTOBIOGRAPHY  OF  A  NEURASTHENE 

have  been  much  more  severe,  if  I  had  not  lived  so 
quietly,  regularly  and  eaten  so  abstemiously.  There 
was  no  chance  for  the  "balling  up"  of  my  leucocytes 
and  temperatures  were  soon  controlled.  There  have 
been  two  attacks  when  if  I  had  not  been  bom  "to  be 
killed  with  a  club"  I  might  have  finished  the  game. 
The  first  one  of  these  the  doctor  regarded  seriously, 
while  in  the  last  one  every  one  save  the  doctor  and 
myself  thought  I  would  die.  But  there  are  some  of 
us  that  never  do  what  is  expected  of  us  and  I  just 
kept  on  living.  A  medical  woman  friend,  another 
memory  out  of  the  past,  used  always  to  say  to  me, 
"you  are  like  a  cat,  doctor,  you  always  come  down  on 
your  feet."  But  it  was  not  only  the  sense  of  utter 
cerebral  fatigue  with  which  I  had  to  contend,  and 
which  I  have  overcome  many  times,  not  only  by  think- 
ing with  the  other  side,  but  by  calling  upon  and  re-ed- 
ucating the  reserve  energy  of  my  cerebral  neurons, 
but  with  the  untoward  mental  processes  characteristic 
of  these  cases. 

I  had  no  time  to  dwell  upon  them  unduly,  but  they 
were  always  present  and  the  never  ending  round  of 
purposeless  thought  has  worn  me  more  than  my  work. 
I  never  invited  it,  did  every  thing  to  avoid  it,  but 
sometimes  found  it  very  difficult  with  my  disturbed 
cerebral  circulation  to  secure  perfect  control. 

I  have  said  but  little  as  to  the  neurasthene's  mental 
processes  and  the  disposition  to  magnify  and  distort 

153 


Autobiography  of  a  neurasthenE 

everything  In  their  own  minds,  the  doubts  and  appre- 
hensions, obsessions  even.  They  exist  and  prejudice 
the  individual's  well  being  in  every  sense.  The  day's 
duties  are  lived  over  long  before  they  have  begun. 
Matters  the  most  trivial  are  discussed  with  oneself, 
not  audibly,  but  in  thought,  until  the  neurons  of  the 
supreme  centers  are  tired  and  worn.  There  is  no 
normal  psychical  elimination  and  the  result  is  the  au- 
tointoxication which  comes  from  this  purposeless  ac- 
tivity and  ceaseless  reiteration. 

I  am  constantly  advised  to  lie  down  and  do  noth- 
ing— to  stay  in  bed  late  in  the  morning.  In  those 
ways  trouble  is  apt  to  come.  Energy  that  is  usefully 
directed  usually  is  productive  of  good,  but  energy  that 
is  permitted  to  run  to  waste  or  to  follow  lines  of  least 
resistance  as  in  the  mountain  torrent,  may  be  and  usu- 
ally is  productive  of  mischief  to  a  greater  or  less 
extent.  This  truth  I  have  always  recognized,  but 
it  was  borne  in  upon  me  when  on  my  ill  fated  trip 
at  the  time  of  my  complete  exhaustion. 

In   going   from   London   to   Southampton    I   was 

placed  in  a  compartment  with  a  very  charming  group 

of  English  people — a  gentleman  and  two  ladies — . 

They  were  on  their  way  across  the  Channel  and  to  the 

picturesque   and   interesting   Brittany   country.      My 

appearance  was  such  that  the  condition  of  impaired 

health  was  easily  read  without  a  word  from  me.     It 

was  In  this  instance.    At  the  usual  hour  for  afternoon 

154 


AUTOBIOGRAPHY  OF  A  NEURASTHENE 

tea  the  travelling  hamper  was  opened  and  tea  was 
deftly  and  daintily  made  by  the  gentleman,  whose 
appearance  bespoke  the  man  who  suffered  pain.  1 
found  later  that  It  was  an  excruciating  sciatica  and 
he  at  once  had  all  my  sympathy,  for  I  had  not  been 
without  it  for  nearly  three  years  then.  The  ladies 
arranged  the  thin  bread  and  butter  and  cakes  to  the 
convenience  of  all.  I  was  at  once  most  hospitably  and 
cordially  invited  to  share  with  them  a  cup  of  tea  and 
some  refreshment.  The  English  people  do  this  sort 
of  thing  with  a  simplicity  that  gives  their  hospitable 
act  a  charm  beyond  words.  It  was  not  the  material 
food  that  appealed  to  me,  but  the  frank  expression  of 
hospitality  and  the  gracious  manner  In  which  It  was 
given.  This  led  to  conversation  and  without  my  re- 
ferring to  my  illness  the  gentleman  expressed  his 
Interest  and  concern,  saying  that  I  looked  very  ill  and 
weak.  To  this  I  simply  answered  that  I  was  a  phy- 
sician, that  I  had  overdone  and  had  taken  the  voy- 
age across  with  the  hope  of  benefit,  but  that  I  was 
returning  in  no  better  condition  than  when  I  left 
home  and  that  I  was  hastening  back  to  try  to  get  on 
my  feet  for  my  season's  work.  He  replied  that  It 
was  unfortunate  that  I  felt  I  must  go  before  improve- 
ment had  been  established  and  that  while  I  needed 
rest  and  change  sadly,  I  needed  also  to  have  my 
*'brain  fed",  without  that  I  would  make  slow  pro- 
gress.    I  was  most  forcibly  impressed,  it  was  no  new 

155 


AUTOBIOGRAPHY  OF  A  NEURASTHENE 

truth,  but  coming  as  it  did  from  a  layman,  a  stranger 
on  hospitality  intent,  it  seemed  to  have  a  new  mean- 
ing. 

During  these  weary  years  my  effort  has  con- 
stantly been  to  keep  my  intelligence  fed  with  things 
other  than  professional,  for  neuronic  activity  has 
been  sO'  long  and  so  strenuously  concerned 
with  those  matters  that  I  have  no  choice, 
but  to  seek  other  lines  of  thought  and  work  in 
obtaining  the  necessary  pabulum.  Fiction  is  used 
when  exhaustion  is  so  great  that  neuronic  activity  is 
prejudicial,  but  while  this  is  true,  it  must  have  vital 
thought.  Trash  will  not  answer  ever.  But  even  so, 
fiction  does  not  suffice.  The  best  food  is  that  which 
invites  active  intelligent  interest  and  the  more  nearly 
one's  heart  and  soul,  using  these  terms  in  their  accus- 
tomed figurative  sense,  are  implicated  in  this  interest, 
the  better  it  is  for  the  tired  nerve  centers. 

That  the  solar  plexus  is  the  seat  of  what  we  choose 
to  call  soul  and  the  great  sympathetic  nerve  system, 
that  of  the  moral  nature,  seems  from  much  personal 
and  clinical  observation  to  be  true.  Let  sordid  work 
take  on  a  personal  charm  through  any  of  the  various 
channels  that  brings  happy  thought,  anticipation 
hope,  and  later  confirmation  in  realization  or  the  cul- 
mination of  one's  hopes  and  it  may  be  carried  on  to 
one's  well  being,  not  to  their  undoing.  But  on  the 
other  hand  let  there  be  hours  and  days  of  hard  work, 

156 


AUTOBIOGRAPHY  OF  A  NEURASTHENE 

listening  only  to  the  woes  and  miseries  of  others, 
spending  every  atom  of  electrical  force  and  radiance 
environed  in  one's  chemical  cells,  then  there  is  no  lift, 
physiological  processes  are  interfered  with,  or  there 
is  an  absolute  arrest.  The  result  is  disastrous.  I 
have  found  it  especially  difficult,  because  after  stren- 
uous office  hours  motor  ability  was  not  sufficient  to 
encompass  change  of  environment,  while  exhaustion 
was  so  great  that  carnage  exercise  required  an  expen- 
diture of  energy  above  and  beyond  my  capacity.  The 
effect  of  overwork  without  any  uplift  is  always  dis- 
astrously experienced  in  my  abdominal  brain  and  the 
cerebral  centers  suffer  through  that. 

In  a  very  extensive  experience  in  the  care  of  these 
cases  in  a  private  home  for  them  I  have  invited 
mental  activity,  diversion  in  every  way  that  I  could 
devise,  neglecting  no  opportunity  for  uplift  and  in- 
spiration. In  doing  it  for  others  I  have  necessarily 
added  to  my  own  exhaustion,  the  reward  came 
through  their  betterment. 

What  a  world  it  would  be  if  we  could  let  the  best 
of  which  we  are  capable  in  thought  and  deed  shine 
out  in  this  way.  To  secure  the  best  good,  how^ever, 
the  degradation  of  fatigue  should  not  come  through 
or  by  reason  of  the  effort.  That  should  be  so  spon- 
taneous, happy  and  really  effortless,  as  to  secure  re- 
sult without.  Physicians  owe  it  to  themselves  as  well 
as  to  their  patients  to  look  well  to  this  part  of  their 

u 


AUTOBIOGRAPHY  OF  A  NEURASTHENE 

work.  Its  neglect  is  a  very  serious  reflection  and  by 
reason  of  it  their  patients  seek  the  relief  to  be  found 
in  the  various  cults.  It  could  be  so  much  more  sanely 
and  sensibly  done  by  the  physician,  if  he  but  realized 
the  mental  and  moral  as  well  as  physical  need  of  those 
seeking  his  services.  There  is  not  needed  any  especial 
or  significant  attitude,  just  that  of  a  wholesome  in- 
spiring nature,  blessed  with  a  desire  to  give  hope, 
courage,  content  and  happiness  to  their  fellow  crea- 
tures. 

As  I  write  there  comes  a  blessed  memory  to  me 
that  rarely  has  or  does  a  patient  leave  my  office  with- 
out saying,  "I  feel  better  than  when  I  came."  To 
feel  better  is  to  be  better  despite  the  nature  of  the 
pathology.  It  does  not  necessarily  imply  the  removal 
of  the  latter,  but  it  does  imply  its  lessened  activity — 
temporarily  at  least. 


158 


CHAPTER  TWELVE 

''Type  of  the  Wise  ixjlio  Soar  but  ne'ver  Roam, 
True  to  the  kindred  Points  of  Heazen  and  Home." 
Wordsworth  :  To  a  Skylark. 

''And  to  me 

High  Moimtains  are  a  Feelings  hut  the  Hum 
Of  Human  Cities  Torture.^' 

Byrox:  Childe  Harold. 

"Never  mind  you   can    obtain   your  Revenge   by 
writing  the  Autobiography  of  a  Neurasthene." 

EIGHT  years  after  my  crash  and  ten  years 
trom  my  first  knowing  her,  my  dear  gra- 
cious lady,  whose  friendship  meant  so 
much  to  me,  died.  The  season  had  been 
full  as  usual  of  work,  I  was  utterly  worn 
— there  never  was  time  to  get  rested,  and  as  is  al- 
ways the  case  under  such  conditions,  grief  told  on  me 
very  badly.  I  have  missed  her  all  these  years  and 
shall  as  long  as  I  live,  unless  perchance  some  othei 
equally  congenial  and  satisfying  friend  comes  into  my 
life.  Even  so  she  w411  never  be  forgotten  and  in 
memory  I  shall  often  relive  the  precious  hours  spent 
with    her.       At    the    time    a    good    deal    of    care, 

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AUTOBIOGRAPHY  OF  A  NEURASTHENE 

anxiety  and  additional  financial  strain  was  mine  be- 
cause of  duties  other  than  to  myself  and  my  profes- 
sional obligations.  I  was  also'  engaged  in  extra  work 
with  my  pen.  The  housekeeping  care  fell  heavily 
and  was  very  different  from  the  homekeeping  which 
I  had  known  the  most  of  my  life  and  which  is  after 
all  the  highest  and  best  form  of  living.  I  decided 
very  suddenly  to  give  it  up.  This  is  my  habit  even 
when  very  considerable  interests  are  at  stake.  I  seem 
to  arrive  at  a  decision  which  is  intuitive.  I  fancy  we 
all  do,  if  we  analyze  our  mental  processes,  and  it  is 
after  all  an  intellectual  cognition.  I  go  over  the  pros 
and  cons  of  a  proposition,  but  even  if  I  seem  to  be 
undecided  for  a  time,  I  am  always  conscious,  that 
back,  shall  I  say  in  my  subconscious  mind,  I  know 
exactly  what  I  am  going  to  do.  This  characteristic 
I  do  not  feel  applies  with  the  same  force  to  the  trivial 
details  of  life,  for  example  whether  I  shall  put  on 
one  or  another  gown  in  the  morning,  as  it  does  to  the 
larger  interests.  They  are  almost  without  exception 
met  very  promptly  and  decisively. 

In  giving  it  up,  I  came  later  on  to  realize  very 
keenly  that  it  had  been  home  after  all.  Never  shall 
I  forget  the  sense  of  satisfaction  with  which  I  took 
possession  of  it.  I  had  been  living  in  an  apartment, 
and  to  be  able  once  more  to  shut  my  garden  gate  be- 
hind me  and  to  enter  my  own  house,  was  a  joy.     But 

I  knew  I  had  acted  wisely,  for  in  addition  to  the  never 

1 60 


AUTOBIOGRAPHY  OF  A  NEURASTHENE 

ending  care  It  was  very  expensive  and  I  realized  that 
the  years  were  not  bringing  me  additional  reserve  of 
energy,  therefore  the  need  must  be  met  by  a  conser- 
vation of  that  which  I  possessed.  For  over  a  year  I 
rarely  went  to  bed  that  my  old  home  did  not  stand 
out  before  me  with  its  beautiful  great  rooms  and  sun- 
light, but  more  than  that,  the  precious  associations  and 
memories  clustered  around  Its  hearthstone. 

Yes !  In  It  I  had  known  the  keenest  physical  suf- 
fering and  most  complete  exhaustion.  But  even  so, 
my  heart  hungered  after  and  longed  for  it,  for  the 
friends  w^ho  had  slipped  away  somehow  seemed 
nearer  to  me  there  than  in  strange  places.  I  once 
more  domiciled  myself  In  a  suite  of  large,  airy,  sunny 
rooms  which  my  friends  and  patients  have  always 
liked,  but  which  for  a  long  time  seemed  absolutely 
unhomelike  to  me.  This  change  was  made  now  five 
years  since,  but  from  the  first  and  until  within  this 
last  year  I  have  walked  blocks  out  of  my  way  to  avoid 
passing  the  old  house.  I  became  so  utterly  home-sick, 
that  In  the  spring  following  I  took  a  house  out  of 
town  for  a  year  and  fitted  It  up  very  happily.  The 
oflSces  remained  as  they  were  In  the  city,  and  I  went 
back  and  forth  to  my  office  hour  and  professional  vis- 
its, dally  during  the  spring  and  three  times  a  week 
when  the  warmer  weather  came.  My  physician  did 
not  consent  to  this,  nor  did  he  say  not  to  do  It — only 

"I  am  afraid  you  cannot  stand  it."     It  is  the  only 

i6i     ' 


AUTOBIOGRAPHY  OF  A  NEURASTHENE 

time  I  have  gone  contrary  to  his  advice  and  I  laugh- 
ingly tell  him  that,  while  I  came  to  grief,  I  had  come 
to  grief  sometimes  when  following  it.  At  any  rate, 
the  strangeness,  loneliness,  extra  fatigue,  the  damp- 
ness from  the  water,  a  land  locked  body  was  near,  the 
loss  of  friends  by  death  and  removal  beyond  my  hori- 
zon, the  stress  of  work  and  strain  of  meeting  my  obli- 
gations to  life,  all  proved  too  much  for  me  and  I 
broke  again.  I  had  no  strength,  could  not  walk  a 
block  without  great  fatigue,  just  dragged  myself 
along  perfunctorily.  I  was  horribly  depressed,  and 
finally  I  decided  to  give  up  the  house  and  return  to 
the  city  and  to  my  apartment.  This  I  did,  sublet- 
ting it  for  the  balance  of  the  year.  Gradually  I  have 
grown  accustomed  to  the  change  and  now  take  com- 
fort and  satisfaction  in  my  environment,  but  for  fully 
a  year  and  a  half,  if  not  two  years,  I  suffered  keenly 
in  my  absence  from  the  old  home. 

The  winter  following  this  experience,  in  a  visit  I 
had  to  make  in  the  lower  and  more  canon-like  streets 
of  the  city,  where  sunlight  rarely  enters  and  the  reek 
and  filth  fills  the  air  with  noisome  smell,  while  damp- 
ness reigns  supreme,  I  encountered  a  grippe  microbe, 
which,  judging  from  the  severity  of  the  Illness  follow- 
ing, must  have  had  the  proportions  of  the  dragon  in 
Siegfried.  At  any  rate,  I  was  ill,  it  seemed  to  me 
more   ill   than  ever  before,   although   my  physician 

thinks  there  was  one  other  time  when  I  was  really 

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AUTOBIOGRAPHY  OF  A  NEURASTHENE 

more  ill  and  much  nearer  the  danger  point.  How- 
ever that  may  be,  I  did  not  suffer  such  excruciating 
pain  in  my  head  and  right  auditory  nerve  at  that  time 
as  this.  Those  who  saw  me  other  than  the  doctor 
thought  I  would  die.  I  dropped  my  flesh  by  the 
pound  and  I  had  not  the  pounds  to  spare.  Despite 
the  pain  and  my  really  serious  illness  I  dressed  and 
went  into  my  office  every  day,  but  an  assistant  did  the 
work.  For  four  weeks  I  was  housed.  At  the  expira- 
tion of  that  time  I  went  out  of  town  to  make  a  pro- 
fessional visit  to  a  house  full  of  patients,  ill  with  the 
same  trouble.  Two  more  weeks  I  remained  housed. 
Not  that  I  was  w^orse  from  my  trip,  but  I  had  no 
strength  and  there  were  all  the  untoward  conditions 
characteristic  of  March  in  a  northern  sea-environed 
land. 

It  was  during  this  illness  that  one  evening  at  the 
time  of  his  belated  visit  and  in  response  to  my  expres- 
sions of  pain — pain  so  severe  that  as  I  write  of  it,  I 
feel,  and  now  I  have  strength  and  health  as  compared 
with  then,  that  should  I  have  to  endure  it  again  I 
should  want  to  die  at  once,  for  the  anguish  w^ould  be 
beyond  me — and  discouragement,  my  physician  said 
to  me:  "Never  mind,  you  can  obtain  your  revenge  by 
writing  the  autobiography  of  a  neurasthene".  The 
seed  fell  on  fruitful  ground,  and  in  the  weary  days  of 
convalescence  when  strength  would  permit,  I  penned 

a  few,  but  very  few  of  these  pages.    The  thought  has 

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AUTOBIOGRAPHY  OF  A  NEURASTHENE 

ever  remained  with  me,  and  before  undertaking  many 
of  the  other  things  which  I  have  in  my  mind  to  do  in 
a  part  of  my  leisure  time,  to  the  bettering  of  condi- 
tions, the  more  complete  rounding  out  of  life's  experi- 
ences as  well  as  the  pleasuring  of  myself,  an  impelling 
force  compels  me  to  have  this  story  chronicled. 

I  made  a  good  recovery  and  in  the  summer 
which  followed  spent  three  months  in  the  hill  country 
farther  north,  engaged  in  an  interesting  professional 
duty  as  well  as  in  an  effort  to  store  up  a  reserve  of 
neuronic  energy.  Luckily,  while  disadvantageously 
placed  in  some  respects,  the  woman  with  whom  I 
stayed  for  those  months,  devoted  herself  to  providing 
me  with  dainty  and  easily  digested  food.  With  the 
utter  quiet,  the  beauty  of  hill,  vale,  woodland,  river 
and  distant  mountains,  the  life-giving  air,  an  ability 
to  be  much  in  the  open,  despite  a  good  deal  of  profes- 
sional care,  I  gained  in  strength  and  avoirdupois. 
Since  that  time  I  have  worked  harder  than  ever  and 
to  the  good.  I  have  not  been  equal  always,  far  from 
it,  but  the  needs  of  those  seeking  me  as  well  as  my 
own  have  been  met  and  not  only  as  well  met  as  in  for- 
mer years,  but  better.  After  all  the  experience  of  the 
passing  years  brings  so  much  of  good  in  one's  own 
development  which  one  can  apply  helpfully  to  the 
good  of  others.  Here  again  is  one  of  life's  compensa- 
tions.    In  youth  and  the  heyday  of  life  we  look  upon 

any  one  who  has  reached  middle  age  with  a  degree  of 

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AUTOBIOGRAPHY  OF  A  NEURASTHENE 

pity  and  commiseration  that  is  entirely  uncalled  for. 
Every  year  of  life,  so  at  least  I  find  it,  brings  with  it 
compensations,  while  the  succession  of  years  brings 
opportunity  for  the  acquirement  of  additional  knowl- 
edge as  well  as  for  achievement.  It  is  my  purpose 
always  to  add  something  each  year  to  my  mental 
equipment  to  the  betterment  of  myself  and  others. 

The  experience  of  this  long  summer  time  away 
from  the  heat,  noise  and  turmoil  of  the  city  was  to  me 
delightful,  and  in  the  added  zest  and  interest  of  my 
work  content  walked  alongside  of  the  happiness  which 
always  comes  with  a  duty  conscientiously  met.  From 
my  physical  betterment  there  came  a  deep  and  abiding 
comfort.  This  improvement  was  not  lasting,  but 
could  have  been  had  there  been  less  work  and  strain. 
The  harvest  was  ready  for  my  reaping,  and  I  did  not 
dare  be  found  w^anting.  Still  these  duties  might  all 
have  been  more  happily  met,  had  there  not  been 
anxiety  and  extra  work  besides,  because  of  the  serious 
illness  of  a  member  of  my  distant  family.  But  then 
that  is  life,  and  there  is  nothing  to  do  but  to  accept 
what  comes,  controlling  the  conditions  as  best  one  can. 

The  professional  interest  of  this  summer  was  en- 
grossing and  in  it  I  had  great  satisfaction,  but  more 
than  that  the  patient  embodied  in  himself  a  very 
charming  and  lovable  personality.  Although  of 
world-wide  reputation,  there  was  neither  pose  nor 
affectation,  no  panoply  of  artificiality,  just  sw^eetness, 

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AUTOBIOGRAPHY  OF  A  NEURASTHENE 

humility,  generous  instincts,  simplicity  and  directness. 
So  far  as  I  have  known  them,  this  is  true  of  the  really 
great  ones  of  the  earth  whatever  their  pursuit, 
whether  scientists,  writers  or  artists.  Their  lives  are 
spent  in  the  doing  of  their  work,  with  the  best  the 
world  knows  and  it  seems  to  me  they  instinctively 
learn  to  rise  above  so  much  that  is  petty  and  grovel- 
ling in  life  and  with  which  we  really  need  have  no 
concern.  With  the  right  mental  attitude  the  most 
menial  even  of  life's  duties  may  be  met  on  the  plane 
of  high  living  and  thinking.  In  order,  however,  to 
secure  and  maintain  this  attitude,  there  should  be  cor- 
rect living  which  after  all  is  simply  physiological  liv- 
ing. The  individual  who  maintains  the  best  physio- 
logic condition,  even  though  it  must  be  secured  by 
restricting  his  life,  instinctively  deports  himself  in  re- 
lation to  life  its  duties  and  humanities  ideally. 

Through  this  charming  patient  I  lived  in  an  at- 
mosphere of  the  best  in  literature,  the  drama,  music 
and  art,  and  it  proved  a  great  rest  to  me  for  my  inter- 
ests had  for  so  long  and  wearily  been  concerned  with 
scientific  studies  as  well  as  medicine. 

The  so-called  science  of  medicine  Is  still  so  Inexact 
as  to  fail  in  the  giving  of  satisfaction  as  pure  science 
does  and  at  the  same  time  by  reason  of  Its  Intensely 
dramatic  human  side  is  very  exhausting.  No !  all  phy- 
sicians do  not  feel  this,  but  the  best  I  have  known 

never  lose  sight  of  this  aspect  of  the  question. 

1 66 


CHAPTER  THIRTEEN 

"As  the  unthoiight  accident  is  guilty 

Of  ivhat  we  wildly  do,  so  we  profess 
Ourselves  to  be  the  slaves  of  chance,   and  flies 

Every  wind  that  blows  J' 

Shakespeare  :  Winter's  Tale. 

THERE  Is  again  an  elemental  disturbance 
of  some  description  somewhere  in  space. 
For  seventy-two  hours  I  have  been  utter- 
ly wretched.  First  there  were  hours  of 
Increased  mental  actlvit}^,  then  came  an 
almost  Intolerable  anguish  of  brain  and  intelligence, 
while  the  aching  way  back  in  my  eyes  extends  into 
my  brain  and  is  felt  most  dowm  deep  inside  from  the 
vertex  or  top  of  my  head.  This  has  been  experienced 
in  these  ways  ever  since  two  successive  fainting  fits 
induced  by  overfatigue  and  anxiety  from  too  great 
professional  stress  and  strain.  I  was  called  to  the  tel- 
ephone to  get  the  report  of  an  anxious  daughter  as  to 
her  mother's  condition  when  in  fainting  I  fell,  strik- 
ing the  back  of  my  head  to  the  left  side  first  and 
against  the  sharp  triangular  comer  of  a  book  case. 
Upon  the  return  of  consciousness  and  attempting  to 
rise,  the  floor  rose  with  me.     It  required  the  exertion 

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AUTOBIOGRAPHY  OF  A  NEURASTHENE 

of  all  my  Indomitable  will  to  get  to  my  feet,  when  I 
promptly  fainted  again,  falling  with  a  tremendous 
crash  and  striking  the  same  locality  against  the  edge 
of  the  door  just  where  the  sharp  edge  of  the  lower 
hinge  Is  placed.  Never  shall  I  forget  that  awful 
sickening  thud  and  the  horrible  throb  and  ache  In 
my  head.  For  nearly  thirteen  years  my  brain  had 
never  been  free  from  congestion.  First  it  began  in 
the  sensory  cortex  and,  as  has  been  told.  Invaded  the 
brain  Itself.  At  all  times  my  head  has  been  so  sensi- 
tive that  if  the  hat  brim  of  my  neighbor  in  a  street 
car  for  example  touched  mine,  the  jar  was  such  tor- 
ture that  I  almost  always  felt  that  I  would  prefer 
being  hit  with  a  club.  Just  so  the  jar  of  sounds,  the 
multitudinous  noises  of  the  city,  a  crusade  for  the 
suppression  of  which  would  have  been  entered  upon 
long  before  the  time  It  was,  if  I  had  had  strength  to 
take  the  Initiative  and  do  my  own  work,  and  the 
vibrations  of  voices  was  torture.  Sunlight  which  was 
essential  to-  my  wellbeing,  at  times  could  not  be  borne 
at  all,  and  In  the  summer  time  rooms  had  to  be  kept 
pretty  constantly  darkened  and  ice  caps  worn.  Un- 
questionably the  sun  stroke  from  which  I  suffered  in 
the  earlier  part  of  my  professional  life,  while  engaged 
in  a  professional  duty,  was  the  exciting  cause.  For  a 
year  after  it  happened,  although  doing  the  hardest 
kind  of  professional  work,  fortunately  indoors  in  an 

institution,  I  never  went  out  for  a  drive  or  walk  save 

1 68 


AUTOBIOGRAPHY  OF  A  NEURASTHENE 

In  the  early  morning  and  after  sunset,  lived  In  dark- 
ened rooms,  employed  a  secretary  because  of  my  eyes 
diagonised  by  my  oculist  as  a  retinitis  but  by  myself 
as  retinal  congestion. 

Upon  my  recovery  from  my  second  attack  of  syn- 
cope I  managed  by  holding  on  to  doors,  walls,  half 
creeping  and  walking,  to  get  Into  an  adjoining  room, 
but  after  a  few  steps  finding  myself  going  again,  I 
let  myself  down  on  the  floor  in  a  recumbent  position 
on  the  rug.  For  some  minutes  I  did  not  move,  did 
not  dare  to  do  so,  for  the  distress  in  my  head  was  so 
great  that  I  simply  could  not  take  any  chances.  Yes ! 
1  was  alone.  I  put  my  hand  to  my  head  and  brought 
it  away  wet.  Then  I  knew  I  had  cut  the  scalp,  but 
that  did  not  trouble  me  save  for  the  uncleanly  sensa- 
tion— the  damage  whatever  Its  nature  I  felt  was  deep- 
er in.  Finally  I  got  into  my  bed  room — It  was  night 
— and  sitting  on  the  bed  tried  to  clean  my  blood- 
soaked  hair  and  then  made  my  preparations  for  the 
night.  But  on  account  of  my  great  distress  I  felt  I 
had  better  telephone  the  doctor.  By  dint  of  holding 
on  to  the  furniture  I  got  to  the  telephone,  took  off 
the  receiver,  but  feeling  myself  going,  managed  to 
hang  up  the  receiver  and  crawl  to  the  bed.  The  lux- 
ury of  arriving.  Immediately  upon  assuming  the 
recumbent  position  and  to  the  left  side,  the  point  of 
Injury,  there  was  experienced  the  sensation  of  the  bed 

rising  at  the  foot  and  the  head  going  down  to  the 

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AUTOBIOGRAPHY  OF  A  NEURASTHENE 

floor.  At  the  same  time  there  was  experienced  a  se- 
vere pain  in  my  left  ear  and  a  feeling  as  though  some 
foreign  body  was  lodged  there  just  back  of  the  drum 
and  also  a  pain  in  my  throat  on  that  side.  Because  of 
the  feeling  of  obstruction  I  tried  if  inflating  my 
Eustachian  tube  or  going  through  the  act  of  blowing 
my  nose  would  not  secure  relief,  but  neither  the  one 
act  nor  the  other  could  be  performed  on  account  of 
the  great  distress  in  ear  and  throat.  The  question  of 
a  possible  dislodgement  of  a  bit  of  wax  was  carefully 
considered,  but  nothing  could  be  found  in  the  audi- 
tory canal.  The  slightest  change  in  position  and  the 
bed  would  again  rise  at  the  foot  end,  while  the  pain 
in  the  head  was  extreme.  The  next  day  my  physician 
came.  When  he  had  heard  all  about  my  fainting  and 
after  having  scolded  me  soundly  for  making  two  and 
three  visits  a  day  to  the  bedside  of  a  very  sick  patient 
in  addition  to  my  office  hours  because  of  the  wishes 
of  the  patient  and  her  daughter,  we  talked  the  symp- 
toms over,  taking  into  consideration  the  intimate 
anatomy  and  also  physiological  relations  of  the  struc- 
tures involved,  and  agreed  that  the  force  of  the  con- 
cussion must  have  expended  itself  at  the  base  of  the 
brain  and  upon  the  semicircular  canals.  I  v/as  treated 
again  to  the  kindly  quizzical  smile  and  humorously 
told  that  "there  was  not  blood  enough  tO'  go  round". 
For  six  monthts  upon  resuming  the  recumbent  and 

left  lateral  position  the  bed  continued  to  stand  upon 

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AUTOBIOGRAPHY  OF  A  NEURASTHENE 

its  head  while  a  quick  turn  brought  the  same  sensa- 
tion. In  order  to  minimize  the  distress  due  to  this 
phenomenon,  I  hfted  my  head  absolutely  free  from 
the  pillow  and  then  let  myself  down  well  towards  the 
front  so  as  not  to  touch  the  injured  spot  which  some- 
how seemed  to  localize  the  point  of  mischief.  The 
aggravation  of  the  symptoms  was  due,  not  as  might 
be  inferred,  from  pressure  but  from  position  and  con- 
sequent disturbance  of  physical  conditions  within  the 
semicircular  canals.  We  agreed  that  the  ear  condi- 
tion should  not  be  submitted  to  an  aural  specialist, 
simply  because  we  both  knew  that  this  was  a  time 
and  a  condition  when  nature  was  the  kindest,  best  and 
most  intelligent  physician.  I  was  wan  and  worn  in 
appearance,  and  while  I  visited  my  patient  the  next 
day,  a  medical  assistant  went  with  me  although  I  pre- 
ferred he  should  not.  I  kept  my  office  hours  at  all 
times  and  made  the  necessary  calls  on  this  patient  for 
some  days  after  the  accident  or  until  her  death. 

From  the  time  of  the  injury  my  digestion  became 
less  good,  my  stomach  extremely  sensitive,  the  sense 
of  nausea  such  as  is  felt  in  greater  or  less  degree  al- 
ways from  injury  at  the  base  of  the  brain  was  experi- 
enced and  the  only  way  I  could  take  food  was  by  using 
champagne  to  the  amount  of  a  tablespoonful  with  my 
luncheon  and  dinner.  I  am  very  susceptible  to  the  in- 
fluence of  any  sort  of  spirits,  vinous  or  malt  liquor 

and  need  only  to  eat  a  piece  of  pickle  or  take  beef 

171 


AUTOBIOGRAPHY  OF  A  NEURASTHENE 

juice  to  feel  as  though  I  had  taken  one  or  the  other. 
My  pathologist  says  he  can  not  get  a  "jag"  so  cheap- 

Gradually  nerve  tone  improved,  but  the  effects  of 
this  injury  still  remain  with  me.  Atmospheric 
changes  emphasize  the  distress.  The  sense  of  heavi- 
ness and  weight  at  the  base  of  my  brain  is  very  great 
as  well  as  the  pain  through  the  eyes  deep  into  the 
centre  of  things  to  the  vertex.  It  is  apt  to  be  accom- 
panied by  a  feeling  of  mental  anguish,  from  which  I 
cannot  get  away.  It  is  not  a  feeling  of  depression, 
although  naturally  it  depresses  me.  It  is  as  I  have 
said,  a  mental  anguish,  and  the  sensation  is  of  a  phy- 
sical condition  from  which  I  cannot  escape.  This  has 
been  so  great  for  the  past  forty-eight  hours  that  I 
have  been  absolutely  no  good,  at  least  from  my  point 
of  view.  Every  neuron  of  my  supreme  nerve  centres 
I  fancy  is  experiencing  the  same  sort  of  distress  which 
in  peripheral  conditions  we  know  as  neuralgia,  a  neu- 
ronic anguish.  I  long  intensely  in  such  untoward 
weather  conditions  for  a  life  in  a  sunny  land. — not 
too  bright,  but  genial  warmth  and  a  dolce  far  niente 
existence.  Oh  yes,  I  have  earned  it,  and  if  I  may 
believe  what  is  said,  I  have  an  extensive  bank  ac- 
count "up  yonder"  greater  than  it  is  here,  but  unfor- 
tunately I  have  no  way  of  securing  access  to  the  pay- 
ing teller. 

When  I  have  an  opportunity  I  sit  down  before  a 

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AUTOBIOGRAPHY  OF  A  NEURASTHENE 

great  big  arc  light  and  allow  Its  radiant  energy  sifted 
through  a  screen  of  blue  glass  to  flood  my  eyes  and 
the  base  of  my  brain.  In  this  way  I  am  always  re- 
lieved, but  do  not  actually  find  myself  again  until  the 
storm  breaks.  There  is  a  northeast  wind,  the  sky  is 
lowering  the  air  most  chill  and  penetrating.  For 
half  an  hour  in  the  early  morning  the  sun  shone,  the 
air  was  less  damp  and  chill,  for  the  wind  had  not  then 
changed,  and  I  thought  relief  was  In  sight.  But  not 
yet.  Let  the  normal  interchange  of  courtesies  in  my 
chemical  cells  be  Interfered  with,  and  they  constantly 
are  by  reason  of  my  chronic  fatigue  as  well  as  by  the 
changes  induced  in  osmosis  by  reason  of  untoward 
barometric  conditions ;  for  If  the  sun  disappears,  as  It 
often  does  for  consecutive  days  in  the  sea  bound 
northern  climate,  the  pressure  of  light  is  withdrawn 
from  the  body's  surface,  or  by  the  ingestion  of  more 
than  my  allowance  of  "birdseed"  or  the  wrong  kind 
of  food,  by  the  slightest  excess,  one  record  of  music 
too  much  In  my  glorified  gramophone,  the  simplest 
social  diversion,  and  all  this  neuronic  anguish  in  the 
very  centre  of  my  brain  is  accentuated,  while  the  per- 
sistence of  anxious  thought  increases  the  congestion. 
This  Interferes  with  happy  functioning  of  the  intelli- 
gence, does  not  prevent  it,  but  makes  It  difficult, 
fatiguing,  sometimes  to  me  purposeless,  never  to  a  pa- 
tient if  I  am  to  beheve  them.  Routine  duties  are  al- 
ways met. 

173 
12 


AUTOBIOGRAPHY  OF  A  NEURASTHENE 

The  atmospheric  disturbances  which  I  felt  so  keen- 
ly at  this  time,  culminated  locally  at  about  eight 
o'clock  of  the  third  day,  when  a  period  of  greater 
mental  comfort  ensued.  Farther  afield,  within  a 
radius  of  two'  thousand  miles  there  had  been  severe 
and  extensive  elemental  disturbances,  high  winds  al- 
most cyclonic  in  nature  with  rain  and  sleet. 

When  a  medical  student  I  used  to  be  tremendously 
Interested  in  the  experiments  of  the  professor  of 
physiology,  another  man  of  great  intellectual  vigor, 
clever  and  telling  conceits,  great  ability  as  a  teacher, 
of  Scotch  birth  and  one  of  nature's  noblemen.  In  an 
acquaintance  extending  over  a  quarter  of  century  I 
never  knew  an  act  of  his  incompatible  with  what  I 
have  said.  His  teaching  resulted  in  inspiring  me  with 
the  greatest  Interest  and  love  for  physiological  truths, 
his  dry  rather  sarcastic  wit  impressed  many  a  whole- 
some lesson  and  his  beautiful,  sincere  Interest  In  his 
work  and  in  humanity  endeared  him  to  us  all.  Cut 
off  untimely  through  his  devotion  to  his  profession, 
and  It  was  devotion,  not  the  aggrandisement  of 
wealth,  his  loss  remains  felt  throughout  his  wide 
circle  of  friends,  students  and  patients.  Not  many 
years  my  senior  I  shared  with  him  the  honor  of  the 
friendship  and  confidence  of  our  mutual  preceptor 
whose  teaching  and  practice  left  an  Impress  of  the 
right  sort  on  both  our  minds. 

None  of  the  experimental  work  Interested  me  more 

174 


AUTOBIOGRAPHY  OF  A  NEURASTHENE 

or  as  much  as  those  upon  the  spinal  cord  and  brain. 
The  classic  experiments  upon  a  pigeon  involving  in- 
jury to  the  semicircular  canals  with  the  resulting  dis- 
turbances of  equilibrium,  to  the  point  of  not  being 
able  to  stand  at  all  were  fascinating  to  me  in  the  ex- 
treme. Did  I  have  a  certain  prescience  that  I  was 
going  to  experience  in  a  degree  the  sensations  of  the 
poor  unbalanced  birds  with  the  pendulum-like  move- 
ments of  their  heads?  Now  while  I  had  no  pendu- 
lum-like movements  save  in  the  first  week  from  the 
accident  and  then  not  noticeable  to  others,  just  a  sen- 
sation of  desiring  to  execute  movements  similar  to 
those  of  a  Chinese  mandarin  in  his  kowtowing,  my 
equilibrium  was  disturbed  for  some  weeks,  T  had  to 
move  more  carefully  than  was  my  wont  (I  usually  go 
as  though  shot  out  of  catapult,  at  any  rate  am  very 
quick,  active  and  alert),  did  not  dare  to  jump  up 
quickly  and  had  the  same  sense  of  disturbed  equilib- 
rium when  sitting  in  a  reclining  attitude  with  my  head 
in  left  latero-posterior  position.  I  lived  very  quietly, 
but  worked  very  hard.  Gradually  all  these  sensations 
have  grown  less  and  less,  but  the  distress  in  untoward 
atmospheric  conditions  is  great  as  I  have  described. 
On  radiant  days  a  very  considerable  degree  of  com- 
fort is  experienced  sometimes  a  sense  of  extreme  well 
being. 

There  must   as   a   result   of  two   successive   falls, 
striking  practically  the  same  spot  each  time,  have  been 

175 


AUTOBIOGRAPHY  OF  A  NEURASTHENE 

a  disturbance  In  the  current  of  the  endo-lymph.  The 
sensation  of  backward  and  forward  movements  of  my 
head,  also  the  sinking  of  the  head  of  the  bed  to  the 
floor  Indicated  that  the  expenditure  of  energy  was 
most  felt  by  the  posterior  vertical  canals,  while  the 
sense  of  disturbed  equilibrium  pointed  to  a  more  or 
less  general  disturbance  In  this  current. 

The  withdrawal  of  radiance  from  which  the  lower- 
ed barometric  pressure  In  Inseparable,  Interferes  tre- 
mendously with  the  amount  of  atmospheric  pressure 
to  which  the  body  superfices  Is  subjected  normally. 
There  are  no  startling  results  when  light  Impinges  on 
very  large  bodies,  as  for  example  being  lifted  from 
one's  feet  and  tossed  Into  space. 

Let  the  impact  of  light  on  exceedingly  small  masses 
be  calculated  and  the  relation  between  light  pressure 
and  weight  (gravitational  pull),  then  the  mechanical 
possibilities  of  a  shimmering  ray  becomes  stupendous. 
There  is  a  great  solar  motor  on  an  ostrich  farm  In 
Pasadena  which  has  an  Indicated  output  of  eleven 
horsepower  with  two  hundred  and  ten  pounds  of 
steam,  which  can  pump  water  at  a  maximum  rate  of 
1,400  gallons  per  minute.  If  the  radiant  energy  fall- 
ing upon  the  deck  of  an  ocean  liner  could  be  utilized 
and  the  radiation  were  not  cut  off  by  air,  it  Is  sufficient 
to  propel  the  ship  with  greater  speed  than  Is  now  ob- 
tained from  carbon. 

Pressure   acts   superficially,    it   is   proportional   In 

176 


AUTOBIOGRAPHY  OF  A  NEURASTHENE 

amount  to  the  surface.  (Jn  the  other  hand  the  entire 
mass  is  affected  by  weight  or  gravitation.  This  has 
been  illustrated  as  follows.  Let  a  cannon  ball  weigh- 
ing one  thousand  pounds  be  divided  into  ten  balls  of 
one  hundred  pounds  each,  the  total  weight  remains 
the  same,  but  the  surface  presented  by  the  ten  balls  is 
greater  than  the  original  ball.  This  means  a  greater 
area  presented  to  the  pressure  of  light.  If  this  pro- 
cess of  subdivision  be  continued  until  many  little  balls 
no  larger  than  buskshot  are  produced,  an  enormous 
superficial  area  is  obtained.  The  total  weight  how- 
ever still  remains  the  same.  There  Is  no  change  pro- 
portionally in  the  gravitational  pull  on  the  entire  mass 
of  little  balls,  but  the  effect  of  radiation  Is  proportion- 
ally increased.  According  to  a  computation  by  the 
savant  Arrhenius  a  point  is  finally  reached,  where  the 
balls  obtained  are  so  small  that  the  light  pressure  ex- 
actly counterbalances  the  pull  of  gravitation.  In  other 
words,  the  globules  obtained  will  remain  suspended, 
wherever  they  may  happen  to  be  placed — pulled  by 
solar  gravitation  and  pushed  by  light  with  equal 
strength  in  opposite  direction,  perfectly  balanced  in 
the  great  scales  of  cosmic  forces. 

This  perfect  balance  between  the  pull  of  solar  grav- 
itation and  the  push  from  light  pressure  means  abso- 
lutely physiological  processes.  It  Is  the  perfection  of 
life.     Chemical  actions  and  reactions  are  clean  cut, 

the  transference  of  fluid  of  the  one  density  to  that  of 

177 


AUTOBIOGRAPHY  OF  A  xNEURASTHENE 

another  or  osmosis  Is  normal,  conditioning  the  elec- 
trical stimulus  and  radiance  within  the  cell.  Life 
goes  on  in  a  fashion  even  though  this  perfect  balance 
does  not  exist  at  all  times,  but  it  is  a  life  devoid  of 
the  best  effort  and  result,  not  to  speak  of  a  life,  in 
those  more  sensitively  attuned,  of  pain  and  dimin- 
ished effort. 

In  the  soul  saturated  atmosphere  according  to  the 
theory  of  Fournier  d'Albe  the  pressure  of  radiance 
must  be  more  actively  in  evidence  and  the  pull  of  so- 
lar gravitation  proportionate,  else  the  soul  life  he 
predicates  would  be  impossible. 

Unquestionably  the  sensation  in  the  ear  of  the  in- 
jured side,  my  good  one,  is  largely  due  to  v/hatever 
prejudices  and  disturbs  cell  function.  It  finds  its 
local  expression  there  because  of  the  traumatism,  but 
it  is  evidenced  in  ways  that  are  general  as  well.  There 
is  a  definition  of  the  bones  of  the  cranium  within  and 
without  as  well  as  those  of  the  left  superior  maxilla 
by  reason  of  the  neuralgic  outlining  that  is  most  un- 
canny. To  have  consciousness  of  the  shape  of  bones 
within  is  not  usual  and  adds  materially  to  the  pain  due 
to  consciousness  of  the  nerves  and  structures. 

The  occipital  and  sub-occiptal  aching,  more  than 
the  usual  neurasthenic  ache  is  difficult  to  endure.  It 
is  accentuated  not  only  by  unfavorable  weather  con- 
ditions, but  by  overwork  or  impaired  nutrition.  Con- 
sciousness of  disturbances  of  the  great  sympathetic 

178 


AUTOBIOGRAPHY  OF  A  NEURASTHENE 

nervous  system  of  the  abdominal  brain  Is  much 
greater  than  ever  before.  In  fact  this  Is  one  of  the 
experiences,  which  I  gladly  would  have  done  without, 
and  In  retrospect  I  can  but  regret  that  I  did  not  take 
the  vacation  I  needed  and  leave  the  patient  to  pass 
beyond  under  the  ministrations  of  another.  But  that 
Is  not  my  nature.  I  sometimes  wish  it  were,  for  after 
all  while  I  make  a  joke  of  all  these  things,  I  have 
grown  very  tired  of  pain  and  disability. 

I  know  of  nothing  that  w^ould  do  me  any  more 
good  or  as  much,  as  to  be  enveloped  In  "Spanish  sun- 
shine" as  a  friend  sojourning  in  that  sunny  land  has 
wished  for  me.  Probably  by  midsummer  I  shall  have 
a  surfeit  of  radiance  but  it  is  not  human  nature  to  see 
it  that  way  in  February  and  March. 


1/9 


CHAPTER  FOURTEEN 

''Take    thy    lute,    wench:  my  soul  grows  sad  with 

troubles.'' 
''Sing  and  disperse  them,  if  thou  canst."      *      *      * 
^'     *      *      *     /w  sweet  music  is  such  art: 
"Killing  care  and  grief  of  heart. 
"Fall  asleep,  or,  hearing,  die!' 

Shakespeare,   Henry  VIIL 

IT  was  not  until  nearly  thirteen  years  from  the 
most  profound  exhaustion  of  my  cerebral  cen- 
tres, and  fifteen  from  the  "spraining  of  my 
brain",  that  I  came  to  feel  it  my  right  as 
well  as  privilege  to  try  to  live  my  own  life. 
For  many  years  the  care  of  others  was  paramount. 
The  need  must  still  remains,  but  it  has  become  more 
nearly  possible  to  expend  my  energies  in  the  direction 
of  conservation  of  financial  potentialities  and  pro- 
fessional achievements  rather  than  to  fight  my  way 
inch  by  Inch.  I  had  become  very  neurasthenic  again. 
The  year  had  been  full  of  hard  work,  day  after  day 
without  any  respite  or  change.  I  had  carried  the 
burdens  which  others  brought  to  me  because  of  Ill- 
ness and  grief,  even  to  those  of  a  scientific  friend  on 
the  other  side  of  the  water  whom  I  had  never  met, 

until  I  wa*  supersaturated.     My  necessary  isolation  in 

i8o 


AUTOBIOGRAPHY  OF  A  NEURASTHENE 

order  to  conserve  energy  left  me  without  opportunity 
for  any  Inspiring  uplift. 

This  matter  of  change  had  been  my  hete  noir  all 
these  years.  Compelled  to  work  for  the  dally  needs 
of  life,  Impelled  to  the  highest  mental  activlt}^  always, 
lacking  In  happiness  and  content  unless  achieving, 
there  was  never  enough  of  me  to  endure  any  less  com- 
fortable surroundings,  than  I  had  provided  for  my- 
self. Born,  so  to  speak,  in  the  midst  of  illimitable 
space,  on  the  western  prairie,  even  when  well  I  could 
never  seem  to  breathe  and  live,  If  I  were  shut  In.  For- 
tunately my  home  during  these  years  afforded  me 
abundant  space,  light  and  air.  There  were  great, 
old-fashioned  high  cellinged  rooms  with  large  folding 
doors,  by  means  of  which  the  drawing  room  floor 
could  all  be  made  one,  windows  on  every  side  but 
one,  extending  to  the  floor  and  open  fires  every- 
where. Here  I  had  space,  air,  sunshine  galore,  hours 
of  indoor  quiet,  although  the  roar  of  the  busy  city 
was  all  about  me  without.  My  bedroom  was  spa- 
cious, well  ventilated,  sunny,  while  my  eastern  win- 
dows looked  out  upon  the  green-clad  walls  of  the 
house  beyond  my  garden  gate.  I  had  taken  It,  be- 
cause It  was  an  ideal  physician's  location  and  had 
been  occupied  by  none  other  for  nearly  twenty  years. 
I  could  not  afford  such  comfort  elsewhere  for  any 
part  of  the  summer  months,  could  not  receive  the  same 

care  and  attention  In  the  matter  of  food,  as  I  had  in 

i8i 


AUTOBIOGRAPHY  OF  A  NEURASTHENE 

my  own  house,  and  more  than  all  could  not  endure 
travel,  whether  by  rail,  water  or  in  a  carriage.  But 
at  this  time  I  had  been  out  of  town  for  two  months 
enduring,  as  best  I  could,  the  discomforts  of  hotel 
environment  and  the  unwholesome  menu  provided,  of 
which,  however,  I  partook  very  sparingly  always. 
During  that  time  I  had  been  overlooking  improve- 
ments on  a  country  property.  It  was  a  matter  involv- 
ing a  considerable  expenditure  of  money,  but  it  was 
not  undertaken  without  knowing  the  amount,  where  it 
was  coming  from  for  immediate  use  and  how  I  was 
to  be  reimbursed.  Despite  all  this,  however,  and  des- 
pite the  fact  that  I  approached  the  matter  in  a  per- 
fectly philosophical  spirit,  knowing  that  the  work 
tended  to  the  assurance  of  an  ultimate  constant  and 
good  income  from  the  property,  I  found  after  a  few 
weeks  that  I  was  once  more  becoming  profoundly 
neurasthenic.  The  weakest  link  was  actively  in  evi- 
dence. My  poor  tired  brain  worked  overtime  in  the 
most  distressing  and  exhausting  fashion.  Wherever 
I  went,  whether  to  overlook  the  work,  for  a  motor 
car  ride,  back  and  forth  in  the  train,  sitting  on  the 
hotel  verandah,  resting  in  my  room,  or  at  night,  I 
added,  multiplied,  divided  and  subtracted — in  fact 
had  such  a  gorge  of  mental  arithmetic,  that  I  was 
worn  out.  My  head  which  has  ached  much  of  the 
time  for  many  years,   for  as  has  been  said,  I  had 

never  been  free  in  all  these  years  from  more  or  less 

182 


AUTOBIOGRAPHY  OF  A  NEURASTHENE 

congestion  of  my  brain,  ached  with  an  unbearable 
intensity,  while  the  consequent  mental  anguish  from 
which  I  suffered,  left  me  without  happiness  or  hope. 
Again  and  again  I  sought  the  aid  of  my  physician 
friend,  and  again  and  again  he  tried  to  serve  my 
needs.  There  was  no  response  to  measures  which 
heretofore  had  been  efficient.  I  incontinently  fled  to 
the  mountains  for  eight  days,  but  returned  without 
any  betterment  of  the  condition  for  w^hich  I  went.  I 
pulled  myself  together  to  the  best  of  my  ability,  and 
wrote  an  article  on  a  subject  which  was  as  a  household 
word  to  me,  but  which  before  I  got  at  it,  cost  me 
hours,  yes,  days  and  nights  of  mental  pain.  It  seemed 
to  me  I  never  could  do  it,  but  I  did.  In  the  cordial 
complimentary  reception  which  it  received  as  well  as 
in  retrospect,  I  know  it  to  have  been  a  successful 
effort.  None  the  less,  however,  it  was  written  with 
an  absolute  questioning  of  my  ability  to  do  It  and  to 
do  it  well.  This  is  my  experience  whenever  I  under- 
take a  new  bit  of  writing  despite  the  fact  that  I  am 
constantly  at  work.  That  occasion  over  and  ex- 
periencing no  relief  from  the  incessant  physical  and 
psychical  distress,  I  ran  off  to  Atlantic  City  for  a  few 
days  before  settling  down  for  the  season's  work  and 
deliberately  played.  In  a  sense  I  enjoyed  it,  but  not 
as  I  enjoy  the  accomplishment  of  something  useful, 
either  to  my  own  betterment  or  that  of  others.  Af- 
ter a  few  days  I  returned,  and  while  assuming  the 

183 


AUTOBIOGRAPHY  OF  A  NEURASTHENE 

care  of  my  daily  routine  once  more,  I  also  cast  about 
in  my  mind  to  know  what  I  could  do  to  secure  relief 
from  the  constant  distress  which  I   suffered.     The 
pain  and  mental  anguish  were  consequent  upon  an 
aggravation  of  the  cerebral  congestion.     For  years 
chronic  exhaustion   and  exhaustibility  had  been  my 
arch  enemy  and  lack  of  appetite  with  impaired  diges- 
tive function  were  due  not  to  wrong  food,  but  to  fa- 
tigue, constant  care  and  anxiety.     Drugs  offered  no 
relief.     I  held  on  during  the  waking  hours  for  the 
sake  of  the  oblivion  which  sleep  would  bring.      I 
cared  for  nothing  and  almost  for  nO'  one.     A  sense 
of  trust,  confidence,  protection,  had  always  been  in- 
spired by  my  physician,   and  as  the  friendship  and 
comradeship  of  year  after  years  of  the  relation  of 
patient  and  physician  slipped  by,  it  continued  in  full 
force.     This  one  exception  remained.     All  the  rest 
of  the  world,  even  my  immediate  relatives  whom  I 
rarely  saw  by  reason  of  widely  separated  homes,  elic- 
ited no  responsive  interest. 

I  had  always  been  passionately  fond  of  music.  For 
these  fourteen  years  it  had  been  impossible  for  me  to 
indulge  this  taste.  For  many  of  them  I  could  not  even 
endure  the  singing  of  some  simple  melody  known  to 
my  childhood,while  the  distant  strains  of  a  band  heard 
on  the  balcony  of  my  window  in  the  open  air  was 
enough  to  send  me  trembling  back  to  my  hammock, 

184 


AUTOBIOGRAPHY  OF  A  NEURASTHENE 

not  a  perceptible  trembling,  but  a  sense  of  tremor  all 
through  my  body  and  most  marked  In  my  brain. 

This  would  leave  me  limp  and  exhausted  and  was 
only  recovered  from  by  a  period  of  absolute  physical 
repose  and  mental  Inertia.  The  opera  and  especial 
the  Wagnerian  opera  had  been  to  me  an  unalloyed 
delight.  I  had  not  been  able  to  attend  for  years,  nor 
for  that  matter  upon  simple  concerts  either.  The 
vitiated  air  Inseparable  from  the  congregation  of 
many  people,  the  vibrations  of  the  latter  all  about  me, 
as  well  as  the  vibrations  of  the  music,  served  to  ex- 
haust every  atom  of  stored  up  energy  and  left  me 
quivering  with  exhaustion. 

I  had  been  literally  starved  not  only  during  these 
years  of  Invalidism,  but  for  that  matter  all  my  life, 
and  not  only  In  so  far  as  music  was  concerned,  but  the 
drama  as  well.  To  witness  a  play  meant  again  the 
vitiated  air  of  badly  ventilated  theatres,  the  ceaseless 
vibrations  of  those  about  me  which  served  to  sap  and 
exhaust  my  energies,  while  the  climax  and  anticli- 
max were  beyond  my  recuperative  power  within  the 
limited  time  afforded  from  one  business  hour  to 
another  Fortunately  my  earlier  theatre  going  had 
been  of  the  best  and  my  recollections  are  therefore 
happy.  More  or  less  a  gregarious  animal,  I  could 
not  endure  people.  One  or  two  congenial  friends, 
preferably  but  one  at  a  time,  for  the  crossing  of 
voices,   the   varying   opinions   voiced   all   served   to 

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AUTOBIOGRAPHY  OF  A  NEURASTHENE 

weary  me.  Books  were  my  constant  companion,  when 
not  engaged  in  active  professional  work  or  busy  with 
my  pen,  I  only  wearied  of  them  when  I  no 
longer  had  sufficient  energy  to  read.  They  never 
bored  me,  although  in  my  professional  reading  I 
have  written  tomes  in  my  mind,  giving  expression  to 
my  dissent  and  non-approval  of  the  published  views  of 
other  writers.  But  I  had  not  the  strength  to  really 
express  my  views  on  many  subjects,  even  though  they 
had  been  developed  and  clarified  as  the  result  of  a 
very  extensive  experience. 

Pure  science  interested  me  most  and,  when  too 
weary  for  that,  fiction  was  my  solace.  The  habits 
of  a  lifetime  had  to  be  changed,  and  I  no  longer 
worked  save  under  pressure  in  the  evening  after  din- 
ner. If  not  too  weary,  my  scientific  reading  and  med- 
ical journals  commanded  my  attention,  but  I  would 
find  so  much  in  the  latter  to  arouse  my  fighting  in- 
stinct that  I  read  them  at  night  under  protest  only. 
With  good  fiction  it  was  different  or  interesting  bi- 
ography and  travel.  Still  the  novel  was  my  strong- 
hold. Separated  from  every  relative  I  had,  with- 
out strength  to  mix  with  people  socially  congregated, 
my  resources  were  limited.  The  movement  of  the 
characters  in  a  good  novel  peopled  my  solitude  in  the 
evening,  not  loneliness,  for  that  I  felt  only  occasion- 
ally, and  in  living  their  lives  without  any  responsibil- 
ity for  their  opinions  or  actions,  I  was  rested.    When 

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AUTOBIOGRAPHY  OF  A  NEURASTHENE 

convalescent  from  the  utter  exhaustion  of  cerebral 
centres,  I  could  read  but  little,  even  of  fiction,  and 
other  reading  I  had  to  have,  for  my  intelligence  had 
to  be  fed.  The  brain  that  Is  left  without  any  Inter- 
ests or  pabulum,  for  Its  neurons  Is  in  the  way  of  utter 
ruin  and  destruction.  I  had  so  little  physical  strength 
that  to  hold  a  newspaper  was  a  weariness,  let  alone 
a  book.  Because  of  Inability  to  do  and  with  no  one 
peopling  the  silence  of  my  home,  save  the  servants,  I 
was  often  ennuled.  Music  I  craved  then.  A  scien- 
tific friend  who  filled  the  chinks  many  a  time  by  his 
talk  on  scientific  subjects  over  my  open  fire,  as  I  lay 
in  my  hammock,  a  man  of  such  keen  intelligence  and 
so  alertly  alive  as  to  be  able  to  appreciate  my  need, 
suggested  that  I  should  get  a  mandolin  and  teach  my- 
self to  pick  out  some  simple  melodies.  I  tried  It,  but 
my  tired  arms  and  hands  with  every  nerve  exquisitely 
sensitive  and  tender,  were  not  equal  to  the  task.  I 
could  only  hold  the  instrument  for  a  few  moments, 
when  I  would  sink  back  into  my  hammock  to  the 
luxury  of  passivity.  But  remember,  while  all  this  was 
true,  every  morning  of  my  day  was  given  to  my  pro- 
fessional duties,  and  three  afternoons  a  week  to  clin- 
ical work.  I  never  neglected  a  professional  duty,  and 
my  life  has  literally  been  sacrificed  to  its  demands.  I 
then  installed  a  piano  and  a  patient,  a  well  known 
musician,  used  to  play  for  me  in  an  adjoining  room, 
when  he  came  professionally,  while  he  awaited  my 

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AUTOBIOGRAPHY  OF  A  NEURASTHENE 

leisure.  Likewise  a  woman  patient.  But  it  was  in 
the  evening  I  felt  the  need,  when  the  days'  work  was 
done.  Therefore  my  need  was  not  met.  The  time 
had  come  again  when  I  longed  for  music  and  longed 
for  impressions  that  would  sink  deep  down  into  my 
brain  to  aid  in  eradicating  the  mathematical  problem 
constantly  going  on  in  my  mind.  Heretofore  I  had 
always  been  able  to  control  the  situation  by  my  read- 
ing, but  this  time  my  eyes  were  tired  beyond  the 
oculist's  power  to  rest  with  different  glasses.  This 
would  never  have  persisted  and  exhausted  me,  as  it 
did,  had  it  not  been  for  the  fact  that  since  I  was  fif- 
teen, I  have  had  to  provide  for  myself  in  every  rela- 
tion of  life,  and  had  always  carried  heavy  financial 
responsibilities.  The  feeling  of  never  arriving  so  to 
speak,  becomes  at  times  well  nigh  insupportable.  It 
had  done  so  in  this  instance.  Luckily  I  was  stronger 
physically  and  therefore  better  able  to  cope  with  the 
problem.  For  the  first  time  I  fully  realized  that 
neither  the  most  rational  prescriptions  of  my  phy- 
sician, nor  yet  his  cheerful  optimism  met  my  needs. 
This  is  an  experience  which  our  patients  must  often 
times  share  and  which  unquestionably  explains  their 
gullibility  in  regards  to  the  various  cults.  He  was 
always  a  comfort  and  his  cheerful  view  of  things,  his 
sense  of  humor,  his  understanding,  his  positive  as- 
surance that  all  would  yet  be  well,  had  heretofore 

never  failed  me.    This  time  there  was  only  a  momen- 

i88 


AUTOBIOGRAPHY  OF  A  NEURASTHENE 

tary  sense  of  relief,  when  the  Intolerable  distress 
would  recur.  Two  years  previously,  because  of  my 
experience  in  the  medical  care  of  a  well  known  man 
of  sensitive  nerve  organization  and  with  great  appre- 
ciation of  artistic  values  from  most  points  of  view,  I 
had  wondered  vaguely  if  there  were  any  of  the  mu- 
sical mechanisms  for  the  reproduction  of  voice  or  in- 
struments which  would  be  grateful  to  me.  I  had 
never  had  time  nor  strength  to  learn  any  Instrument 
myself  and  had  always  laughingly  threatened  that, 
when  the  time  of  need  came,  I  should  Install  a  hand 
organ  and  a  monkey.  Upon  Investigation  I  decided 
not.  This  was  before  that  wonderful  mechanism,  the 
apotheosis  of  the  gramophone  had  been  brought  to 
its  present  state  of  perfection.  In  looking  into  the 
matter  again,  I  was  fortunate  In  enlisting  the  services 
of  a  man  w^ho  had  been  through  a  similar  experience 
to  mine  In  the  way  of  a  complete  nerve  break,  but 
w^ho  fortunately  had  a  father  who  not  only  helped 
him  to  the  necessary  rest  for  a  time,  but  provided  him 
with  intelligent  and  watchful  care,  looking  to  his  liv- 
ing physiologically  In  every  way.  All  financial  strain 
was  removed  and  a  sojourn  under  sunny  skies  helped 
him  to  restore  his  neuronic  energy.  His  recov- 
ery, therefore,  had  been  more  complete  than  mine, 
How^ever  by  reason  of  this  experience  he  understood 
my  needs  at  once.  I  told  him  of  the  untoward  effect 
of  strenuous  music,   of  loud  voices.   Indicating  that 

18 


AUTOBIOGRAPHY  OF  A  NEURASTHENE 

minor  music  had  always  appealed  to  me.  For  the 
first  time  in  my  life  I  spent  money  absolutely  for  my 
own  delectation  other  than  is  demanded  of  a  phy- 
sician to  the  furthering  of  professional  interests.  With 
the  characteristic  hesitancy  of  a  neurasthene  I  could 
not  decide  for  a  week  or  two.  Eventually  I  did,  al- 
though I  would  have  found  it  more  difficult,  had  it 
not  been  for  the  kindly  offices  of  this  gentleman.  The 
instrument  was  installed,  and  a  half  dozen  or  more 
choice  records  of  classical  music  sung  by  the  best  op- 
eratic stars,  Schumann-Heink,  Melba,  Farrar,  Eames, 
Calve,  Homer  and  Caruso,  were  provided.  To  these 
were  speedily  added  others  among  them  a  number 
oif  exquisite  instrumental  records  as  well  as  some  of 
the  ballads  dear  to  my  earlier  life.  They  were  se- 
lected very  carefully  and  with  an  eye,  or  rather  ear 
to  my  needs.  Nothing  strenuous  was  sent  up,  Chop- 
in's Nocturne,  Handel's  Largo,  Greig's  Morning  and 
Roger's  Paraphrase  of  Kathleen  Malvourneen,  af- 
forded me  the  most  exquiiste  pleasure,  while  the  won- 
drous dignity,  beauty  and  calm  of  the  incomparable 
voice  of  Schumann-Heink  soothed  and  rested  me  as  a 
beautiful  sunset  time  with  its  wondrous  glory  of  af- 
terglow and  exquisite  tuneful  silence. 

The  evening  of  its  installation  was  a  red  letter  one 
to  me,  and  one  in  which  my  artistic  senses  revelled. 

In  the  conversation  which  ensued  the  scientific  prin- 
ciple involved  came  up  for  consideration  as  well  as  the 

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AUTOBIOGRAPHY  OF  A  NEURASTHENE 

historic.  It  was  all  most  delightful.  Recognizing 
that  the  best  results  were  obtained  by  the  imprison- 
ment so  to  speak  of  sound  waves  in  the  cylinder  of 
wax,  by  the  horizontal  rather  than  the  perpendicu- 
lar method,  the  work  of  Mr.  Edison,  received 
just  and  generous  recognition.  While  personal  rem- 
iniscences of  the  great  inventor,  many  of  which  I  had 
shared  before  with  others  who  had  worked  with  the 
"old  man"  as  they  fondly  loved  to  call  him,  increased 
the  charm  of  and  interest  I  felt  in  my  new  posses- 
sion. But  the  fact  that  many  hundreds  of  years  ago 
vibration  was  found  to  be  in  symmetrical  waves  by  an 
accidental  observation  of  a  man  sitting  on  the  sea 
shore  beating  a  tattoo  on  a  drum,  upon  the  head  of 
which  had  gotten  some  grains  of  sand,  and  as  the 
head  vibrated,  they  took  form,  had  escaped  my  at- 
tention in  the  study  of  physics.  The  story  was  told 
so  charmingly  that  I  felt  as  though  I  were  In  fairy- 
land. This  is  by  no  means  a  new  experience  to  me 
in  my  scientific  studies,  especially  in  the  domain  of 
physics.  I  was  led  along  the  evolution  of  the  instru- 
ment up  to  the  present  date,  or  until  the  development, 
as  I  have  chosen  to  regard  it,  of  the  apotheosis  of  the 
gramophone  with  Its  infinite  artistic  possibilities. 

I  had  known  of  Edison's  work  from  the  first  In  this 
relation,  and  knew  that  to  him  all  homage  was  due, 
had  been  Invited  years  before  to  place  my  voice  auto- 
graph on  record  in  his  laboratory,  and  had  even  used 

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AUTOBIOGRAPHY  OF  A  NEURASTHENE 

a  business  phonograph  In  my  work,  had  heard  the 
ordinary  instruments,  without  pleasure  however,  but 
it  was  not  till  I  possessed  this  artistic  cabinet  of  the 
most  satisfying  of  woods,  mahogany  with  its  empire 
decorated  key  and  knobs  and  with  every  suggestion 
of  mechanism  shut  away  from  view,  and  was  taught 
by  an  artist  in  his  understanding  and  use  of  the  in- 
strument that  I  realized  its  beautiful  possibilities.  In 
this  I  am  not  alone,  nor  is  my  appreciation  due  to 
my  many  years  of  deprivation  and  starved  senses. 
My  friends  and  patients  have  shared  the  pleasure 
with  me  and  they  unanimously  find  the  music  exquis- 
itely beautiful  and  satisfying.  This  is  so,  because 
there  is  nothing  but  music  in  the  records.  They  are 
selected  for  their  melody,  their  harmony,  their  ability 
to  speak  to  met  They  are  always  played  soft  and 
low.  I  need  no  inspiration  to  go  forth  to  battle.  That 
I  have  been  doing  all  my  life,  and  achievement  always 
had  been  my  metier.  I  needed  something  to  rest 
and  divert  me.  In  that  my  need  has  been  beautifully 
met. 

Instead  of  the  ceaseless  reiteration  of  tiresome  fig- 
ures associated  with  all  the  unfortunate  impressions 
incident  to  the  employment  of  mechanics  of  all  sorts 
with  their  characteristic  delay,  there  was  left  the 
beauty,  melody,  harmony  and  grandeur,  according 
to  the  selection  lilting  its  way  through  my  brain  cells. 
The  rest  and  peace  of  It  will  never  be  forgotten,  while 

192 


AUTOBIOGRAPHY  OF  A  NEURASTHENE 

life  lasts,  and  there  will  ever  be  felt  by  me  despite  the 
fact  that  it  was  simply  a  commercial  acquisition,  a 
feeling  of  gratitude  to  the  combined  scientific  and 
commercial  effect  which  made  it  possible. 

In  time  I  hope  the  pleasure  I  had  in  the  possession 
of  my  country  property,  beautiful  to  me  to  the  point 
of  pain,  when  I  have  sat  on  the  verandah,  overlook- 
ing the  amphitheatre  of  encircling  hills,  in  which  it 
is  set,  forest-clad,  in  one  direction  to  the  remoteness 
of  the  Adirondacks  while  in  another,  the  shining 
stretch,  cun^es  and  wondrous  beauty  of  the  sound, 
dotted  with,  an  ever  moving  fleet  of  whitew^inged 
yachts,  and  outlined  by  its  distant  island  shore,  met 
my  view.  For  the  time  it  is  lost  and  the  memory  of 
the  care  and  anxiety  continues  paramount. 

It  is  an  exquisite  pleasure  to  me  to  w^atch  the  faces 
of  my  guests  on  a  quiet  "At  Home"  day,  when  a  few 
congenial  friends  only  are  asked,  to  witness  not  only 
their  appreciative  intellectual  pleasure,  but  as  well  in 
response  to  some  daint}^  beautiful  bit  of  orchestra- 
tion or  voice,  to  see  the  soul  shining  out  of  their 
eyes.  Why  enlarge  upon  this?  the  reader  may  ask. 
Simply  because  from  a  professional  view  point  I  wish 
to  make  the  value  of  music  as  a  help  to  the  best  con- 
ditions obtainable  by  those  who  have  been  so  unfor- 
tunate as  myself,  absolutely  clear.  I  could  not  have 
it  in  the  ordinary  way,  as  subsequent  pages  will  show, 
for  I  never  had  an  opportunity  of  restoring  nerve 

193 


AUTOBIOGRAPHY  OF  A  NEURASTHENE 

energy  to  such  a  degree  that  I  could  both  work  and 
play.  The  work  had  to  be  done,  for  I  had  to  meet 
all  my  obligations  to  life.  There  was  no  one  else  to 
do  it.  Music  is  recognized  by  the  medical  profession 
as  an  agent  of  no'  small  value  in  the  care  of  nerve  and 
mental  cases.  It  acts,  when  used,  in  moderation  as  a 
physiological  stimuli  of  very  great  value.  In  my  own 
case  it  has  been  priceless.  The  sordid  side  of  life  has 
dropped  away  from  me.  An  amount  of  neuronic  en- 
ergy which  I  did  not  realize  that  I  possessed,  has  been 
called  into  activity.  It  is  easier  for  me  to  think  and 
express  myself  in  intellectual  ways  than  formerly. 
This  effect  is  more  marked  than  the  effect  upon  my 
emotional  nature,  although  I  have  the  most  exquisite 
pleasure  in  the  thrillingly  sweet  vibrations  of  some 
of  my  favorite  bits  of  music,  just  as  I  always  felt  the 
exquisite  beauty  of  the  thrush's  even-song — or  the 
robin's  liquid  matin  notes. 

The  energy  of  my  neurons  had  been  exhausted  by 
the  sordid  drudgery  of  much  of  a  physician's  work. 
This  had  been  emphasized  by  my  devotion  to  scien- 
tific studies,  delightful  as  they  were  and  are.  In 
them  I  can  still  lose  myself  to  the  world,  but  as  I  can 
only  follow  the  work  of  others,  much  of  this  sort  of 
reading  exhausts  me,  because  it  arouses  desire  tO'  do 
which  can  not  be  satisfied.  Meanwhile  there  lay 
dormant  a  power  I  knew  I  possessed  and  which  all 

these  weary  years  almost  unconsciously  I  had  looked 

194 


AUTOBIOGRAPHY  OF  A  NEURASTHENE 

fonvard  to  the  exercise  of,  but  which  was  valueless 
to  me  because  of  my  wellnigh  Insupportable  chronic 
fatigue  and  exhaustion.'  I  had  done  everything  in 
my  power  and  suggested  by  my  physician  to  get  well, 
but  I  could  not  because  I  had  to  work. 

In  conversation  one  day  with  a  young  medical  man 
of  brilliant  mind,  a  mind  of  such  a  nature  and  calibre, 
that  I  felt  always  I  must  help  save  him  from  himself 
— an  alcoholic  of  many  years  standing;  but  at  this 
time  trying  to  control  his  vicious  habit,  he  said  "I 
wish  I  were  dead".  In  response  to  my  remonstrances 
he  added  "But  I  would  like  two  weeks  of  golf  first." 
We  were  both  worn  and  depressed,  he  by  reason  of 
his  dissipation,  I  by  my  steadfast  application  to  work 
and  duty.  It  has  never  been  my  habit  to  w^ish  I  were 
dead.  I  enjoy  life  too  keenly  for  that.  This  time, 
however,  there  was  nothing  to  lift  and  Inspire,  there- 
fore it  was  easy  to  say  "yes,  I  wish  it  were  all  done, 
but,  oh,  how  I  would  like  to  get  rested  first."  Poor 
misguided  man — his  own  worst  enemy  alw^ays.  It 
was  the  beginning  of  all  his  bad  habits  again.  De- 
spite the  fact  of  his  degeneracy,  his  mental  activity 
was  so  great  and  possessed  of  such  a  charm  that  I  did 
not  give  up  until  his  desire  for  indulgence  led  to  such 
dishonesty  that  I  could  no  longer  trust  him,  as  I  had 
been  doing  In  my  effort  to  help  advance  his  profes- 
sional Interest.  One  day  in  one  of  our  talks  relative 
to  an  advance  In  scientific  medicine  he  gave  expression 

195 


AUTOBIOGRAPHY  OF  A  NEURASTHENE 

to  a  very  interesting  thought,  but  before  there  was 
time  for  me  to  respond,  he  added  "I  wonder  what 
crevice  of  an  alcoholic  brain  that  came  out  of."  I 
am  afraid  I  shall  always  feel  that,  if  I  had  had 
strength  and  money  so  as  to  have  controlled  his  en- 
vironment, he  might  have  been  saved  simply  because 
of  the  result  obtained  in  a  case  of  equal  magnitude, 
for  which  I  had  cared,  but  as  he  had  been  the  subject 
of  much  and  earnest  effort  before  I  knew  him,  it  was 
doubtful. 

I  believe  so  thoroughly  that  many  of  the  untoward 
chronic  conditions  of  nerve  and  mind  can  be  happily 
met,  that  I  do  not  despair  when  they  come  to  me. 
There  is  a  residual  energy  in  the  neuron  which  has 
not  yet  undergone  complete  degeneration  that  may  by 
appropriate  stimulation  and  education  be  aroused 
to  activity.  This  is  true  in  the  commonly  known 
spinal  cord  lesion  of  tabes  dorsalis,  and  I  have  found 
It  true  in  the  alcoholic,  and  also  in  the  woman  in 
whom  the  moral  sense  seemed  lacking.  There  are 
reasons  for  these  untoward  conditions — physical  rea- 
sons always  which  of  necessity  react  upon  psychical 
conditions  to  the  detriment  of  mind  and  soul.  My 
own  experience  in  finding  an  available  stimulus  cap- 
able of  taking  my  inner  and  best  self  out  of  the  sordid 
environment  of  work  and  worry  has  taught  me  so 
much  that  In  the  future  professional  effort  will  never 

be  spared,  as  it  never  has  been  in  the  past,  to  help 

196 


AUTOBIOGRAPHY  OF  A  NEURASTHENE 

even  the  apparently  most  hopeless  cases.  Just  so  long 
as  an  absolute  degenerative  change  has  not  taken 
place,  there  remains  the  possibility  of  arousing  physi- 
ological activity  within  the  neuron,  to  the  betterment 
even  if  not  the  recovery  of  the  patient. 

But  I  forget  my  theme,  just  as  I  always  do,  when 
the  tocsin  of  professional  responsibilities  is  sounded. 

As  I  have  already  indicated,  I  found  that  in  con- 
sequence of  the  possession  of  this  instrument  and  the 
ability  to  listen  to  the  best  of  music,  seated  in  my  fav- 
orite chair  by  an  open  fire,  in  a  room  of  goodly  pro- 
portions, well  ventilated  and  artistically  "homey", 
all  my  old  love  for,  and  satisfaction  in  music,  both 
vocal  and  instrumental,  was  aroused. 

As  I  grew  more  and  more  accustomed  to  it,  I  felt 

an  increased  desire  to  go  again  to  the  opera  or  to  the 

Symphony  Concerts.    One  evening,  some  two  months 

after  its  acquisition,  I  permitted  a  patient  to  beguile 

my  attendance  upon  the  opera.     She  selected  Rigo- 

letto,  but  long  before  its  conclusion  I  was  conscious 

of  neither  enjoyment,   melody  nor  harmony.      My 

sense  of  duty  and  the  fitness  of  things  kept  me  until 

its  close.     So  complete  was  my  exhaustion  that  I  have 

no  memory  save  that  of  a  confusion  of  sights  and 

sounds,  which  after  all  characterizes  much  of  opera. 

My  neurons  had  completely  failed  to  register  a  single 

note  of  satisfying  melody.     All  that  remained  was 

the,  to  me,  irritating  orchestral  refrain,  which  was 

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AUTOBIOGRAPHY  OF  A  NEURASTHENE 

absolutely  unsatisfying  and  fatiguing  beyond  words. 
This  despite  an  all  star  cast.  So  painful  and  ex- 
hausting was  its  constant  reiteration  in  my  brain  that 
I  could  not  get  quiet  nor  comfortable  upon  my  re- 
turn home. 

In  my  discomfort  and  despair  at  the  prospect  of  a 
sleepless  night  I  placed  in  the  instrument  the  record 
of  a  ballad,  sung  by  a  beautiful  sympathetic  tenor 
voice,  and  as  the  pleasing  strains  filled  the  room,  the 
memory  of  the  irritating  and  exhausting  sounds  and 
the  confusion  of  scene  slipped  away,  and  by  the  time 
I  was  ready  to  retire,  I  felt  reposed  and  able  to  read 
a  few  pages,  as  was  my  custom.  Sleep  came  less 
readily  than  usual,  but  my  better  physical  condition 
helped  me  to  woo  the  drowsy  god  much  more  quickly, 
than  formerly. 

The  morning  found  me  exhausted,  however.  I  did 
not  want  to  hear  the  sound  of  a  voice.  The  hum  of 
the  city's  noise  I  was  accustomed  to  and,  although 
exhausting,  I  could  within  the  walls  of  my  apartment 
shut  the  worst  of  it  out  of  my  consciousness. 

Fortunately  it  was  a  Sunday  morning.  There  was 
no  office  hour,  and  no  one  to  disturb  the  quiet  of  my 
apartment.  My  writing  table  was  littered  with  all 
the  unfinished  ends  of  the  work  of  a  professional  per- 
son. There  were  letters  to  write,  literally  from  one 
end  of  the  world  to  another.     Case  books  and  ledgers 

needed  attention,  but  after  a  few  moments'  effort  I 

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AUTOBIOGRAPHY  OF  A  NEURASTHENE 

laid  my  pen  down,  walked  to  the  library  and  en- 
sconced myself  in  an  easy  chair  with  a  book.  By 
afternoon  I  had  stored  up  sufficient  energy  to  enable 
me  to  write  the  home  letter  due,  but  the  sun  went 
down  with  nothing  else  accomplished.  This  was  not 
all.  It  took  me  weeks  to  get  over  the  exhaustion. 
All  this  fatigue  seemed  so  purposeless,  and  I  could 
not  be  patient  for  having  permitted  myself  such  an 
experience.  Had  it  only  left  me  with  one  blessed 
memory  of  pure  harmony,  but  it  did  not.  This  was 
partly  the  character  of  the  opera.  Had  it  been  a 
different  kind  of  music,  while  the  exhaustion  would 
have  been  as  great,  there  might  have  remained  at 
least  the  memory  of  one  bit  of  pleasing  melody.  At 
least  this  is  the  impression  which  remains  with  me. 

A  month  later,  the  Sunday  following  Christmas 
day,  I  went  to  the  gala  Wagner  performance  by  the 
New  York  Symphony,  Frank  Damrosch,  conductor. 

My  years  of  deprivation  rendered  me  all  the  more 
keenly  alive  and  susceptible  to  the  exquisite  beauty 
of  the  Wagnerian  music.  His  operatic  scores  had  al- 
ways appealed  to  me,  as  French  and  Italian  opera 
never  did.  I  had  not  only  a  feeling  of  the  sense 
harmony,  but  of  intellectual  pleasure  as  well.  My 
soul  particles,  or  "psychomeres"  soared  into  the 
realms  of  purest  and  most  exquisite  pleasure,  as  I 
listened  again  to  the  prelude  of  Lohengrin,  Tann- 

hauser's  Pilgrimage  to  Rome,  the  Prayer  from  Act 

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AUTOBIOGRAPHY  OF  A  NEURASTHENE 

III  of  Tannhauser,   the   Magic  of  St.   John's  Eve 
from  Die  Meistersinger,  the  Siefrled  Idyll,  Siegfried 
pressing  through  the  flames  surrounding  the  sleeping 
Brunhilde,  and  the  Prelude  and  Finale  from  Tristan 
and  Isolde.     I  was  in  the  seventh  heaven  of  delight 
and,  although  conscious  of  fatigue,  my  neurons  regis- 
tered the  exquisite  melody  and  the  intellectual  striv- 
ing.    I  came  home  charmed,  stimulated,  and  felt  de- 
spite fatigue  as  though  I  had  been  above  and  beyond. 
At  the  same  time  I  realized  more  keenly  than  I  had 
from  time  to  time,  how  I  had  been  cheated  and  de- 
frauded of  my  birthright.     As  I  write  that  sentence, 
I  involuntarily  pause,   for  there  rise  before  me  the 
beds  of  the  sick,  suffering,  to  whom  I  have  minister- 
ed, the  days  and  years  of  striving  to  teach  those  who 
came  to  me  for  advice,  the  better  way  of  living  which 
always  means  health,  the  confessions  to  which  I  have 
patiently   listened   waiting   until   I   could   speak   the 
words  of  comfort  and  help  so  sadly  needed  directing 
the  way  to  health  of  body  and  mind,  the  knowledge 
that  I  have  never  failed  to  "stand  by"  when  needed, 
that  to  the  pale-faced  pathetic-eyed  daughter  whose 
mother's  doom  I  had  pronounced.     I  did  not  say  nay, 
when  she  said  "Don't  go  for  your  vacation  yet,  doc- 
tor (I  had  never  had  but  one  or  two  in  all  my  life, 
and  they  were  usually  of  work-a-day  character) ,  I  do 
not  think  you  will  have  to  wait  long,"  although  be- 
fore the  end  came,  it  meant  such  exhaustion  for  me 

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AUTOBIOGRAPHY  OF  A  NEURASTHENE 

as  to  lead  to  an  accident  from  the  effects  of  which  I 
shall  never  recover,  and  I  can  but  ask,  why  should  I 
regret  not  having  taken  of  life  a  surfeit  of  pleasure, 
when  I  could  do  these  things  by  giving  up  the  pleasur- 
ing of  self.  In  my  case  only  one  thing  could  be  done, 
and  such  talents  as  were  my  endowment  have  been 
laid  on  the  altar  of  my  profession,  to  which  in  my 
teens  I  felled  impelled. 

Better  to  see  the  face  of  the  suffering,  dying  even, 
light  up  on  entering  the  sickroom,  to  hear  almost  the 
last  words  in  a  cheery  voice  of  one  just  on  this  side 
of  the  hereafter,  "Oh,  there  is  my  doctor,  I  am  so 
glad  you  have  come ;  you  have  won  out,  I  have  no 
pain  and  I  am  better — much  better",  than  to  have 
linger  in  neuronic  memory  the  strains  of  music  only, 
no  matter  how  satisfying,  enthralling  and  uplifting 
they  may  have  been. 

Of  course,  my  friends  think  it  all  wrong,  and  my 
physician  calls  me  to  account  in  no  measured  terms 
ever  and  anon.  Yet  with  all  my  apparent  careless- 
ness and  neglect  of  my  physical  self,  it  really  does  not 
exist.  I  am  careful  and  cautious  to  a  degree  in  most 
things.  My  work  must  be  done  and  well  done  and  I 
must  do  it  according  to  my  own  lights,  not  according 
to  others.  Humanity  demands  that  of  me  and  one 
must  be  true  to  one's  self. 

My  necessarily  shut-in  life  other  than  professional 

hours  renders  me  therefore  very  grateful  to  those 

20 1 


AUTOBIOGRAPHY  OF  A  NEURASTHENE 

who  have  made  it  possible  for  me  to  again  be  rested, 
enthralled  and  inspired  by  beautiful  music.  I  suffer 
no  deprivation  through  the  absence  of  the  singers  or 
players  physical  presence.  On  the  contrary,  the  only 
deprivation  is  the  lack  oi  an  invisible  sprite  whose 
duty  should  be  the  removal  and  placing  of  the  de- 
sired records. 

Occasionally  a  very  congenial  friend,  who  instinc- 
tively recognizes  that  my  two  hands  are  tired  as  well 
as  my  brain,  does  this  for  me  to  my  very  great  com- 
fort and  enjoyment. 


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CHAPTER  FIFTEEN 

'^Psychic  Susceptibility  and  Psychic  Control  or  The 
Wireless  Transmission  of  Thought  or  Brain  Waves 
by  the  ''Carriers  of  the  Air'\ 

IT  Is  nearly  fifteen  years  since  I  "sprained  my 
brain",  and  nearly  thirteen  years  since  I 
smashed  it  entirely.  Many  of  the  untoward 
conditions  still  remain  however.  Yesterday 
I  was  on  the  heights,  happy  and  equal  to  every 
effort.  The  day  was  devoted  to  my  professional 
work,  and  I  gave  of  my  largesse,  counsel,  cheer,  en- 
couragement, smiles  and  jokes  to  each  and  every  one, 
as  I  felt  their  need  would  best  be  met.  In  addition 
to  the  routine  errands  at  the  pharmacists,  the  bank, 
the  academy  of  medicine,  I  did  a  shopping  errand 
and  wound  up  with  a  social  call.  It  was  this  latter 
which  did  the  mischief,  for  I  precipitated  myself  into 
an  environment  which  I  could  not  control,  while  more 
than  that  it  delayed  my  dinner  hour  which  demands, 
as  has  been  noted,  prompt  recognition  if  it  is  only  a 
glass  of  fermented  milk.  As  a  result  of  all  this  I  am 
today  tired,  body  and  soul,  weary  beyond  words,  my 
head  aches  with  an  ache  which  beggars  description, 
while  I  am  gripped  by  the  most  profound  depression. 

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AUTOBIOGRAPHY  OF  A  NEURASTHENE 

There  is  no  uplift  nor  inspiration  from  the  usual 
mental  stimuli,  nor  is  there  physical  strength  for  ex- 
ercise. However,  although  the  sun  is  shining  brightly 
and  the  skies  are  clear,  there  is  a  barometric  change 
due.  This  I  know  full  well.  It  may  not  be  here 
for  forty-eight  or  more  hours,  but  it  is  on  the  way 
with  absolute  certainty.  I  think  if  I  were  enveloped 
in  cotton  wool  and  hermetically  sealed  within  a  metal 
sheathed  room,  I  would  know  when  an  easterly  storm 
was  coming  and  long  before  the  veering  wind,  low- 
ered barometer  and  enveloping  gloom  of  the  foggy 
atmosphere  told  the  story.  This,  which  has  always 
been  more  or  less  true,  was  increased  by  my  illness, 
but  the  injury  which  I  received  in  two  successive  faint- 
ing fits  to  my  head,  which  were  induced  by  the  ex- 
treme of  fatigue  and  exhaustion,  has  emphasized  it. 
These  lines,  however,  penned  almost  thirteen  years 
after  the  very  complete  exhaustion  of  my  supreme 
nerve  centres,  had  their  inspiration,  if  inspiration  can 
be  said  to  exist  under  such  circumstances,  in  the  un- 
toward condition  produced  by  a  storm,  accom- 
panied by  winds  and  heavy  snow  fall,  followed  by  a 
drop  in  the  temperature,  with  lessened  barometric 
pressure  and  the  best  of  electrical  conditions.  Seven- 
ty-two hours  before  it  came  I  was  restless  with  a 
nameless  restlessness,  moving  about  from  one  thing 
to  another,  not  desiring  to  read  consecutively  nor 
think  along  the  lines  of  my  work  as  was  my  wont.    I 

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AUTOBIOGRAPHY  OF  A  NEURASTHENE 

was  also  tired — oh,  so  tired  and  depressed  to  a  de- 
gree. This  is  what  happens  always,  and  the  seismic 
disturbances  of  this  winter,  1908- 1909,  although  far 
away,  had  unquestionaby  exercised  a  profound  influ- 
ence upon  the  earth  which  could  readily  be  appreci- 
ated by  a  sensitive  nerve  organiaztion.  The  same 
force  which  causes  the  trembling  of  the  sensitive  seis- 
mic needle  is  capable  of  causing  disturbances  in  a 
nerve  organization  so  sensitively  attuned  as  was  mine. 
I  have  been  most  wakeful,  not  the  distressing  insom- 
nia of  the  years  before  and  following  the  breaking 
down,  but  wide  awake,  alert,  intolerant  of  repose, 
but  happy  and  contented,  despite  my  numerous  sun- 
rise experiences.  I  call  them  sunrise  "jags"  in  order 
to  keep  my  friends  from  taking  them  seriously.  They 
think  I  should  stay  in  bed  until  the  conventional  city 
hour.  After  all,  why  should  I  not  be  up  before  the 
first  of  the  dawning?  Why  not  enjoy  one  of  the  most 
beautiful  sights  to  be  seen  on  this  beautiful  earth, 
and  why  not  have  the  soul  pleasure  which  comes  too 
seldom  in  this  busy  work-a-day  world?  It  is  not  con- 
ventional in  a  big  city,  unless  one  labors  with  hands 
and  pick-axe,  to  rise  before  the  sun,  but  it  is  my  de- 
light and  always  has  been  from  my  childhood  to  be 
astir,  that  I  might  feel  the  first  mysterious  movement 
of  the  dawn,  and  mine  has  been  the  triumph  and 
glory  when  his  royal  majesty  appeared.     Similarly, 

the  sunsets  have  drawn  me  along  the  shafts  of  light, 

205 
u 


AUTOBIOGRAPHY  OF  A  NEURASTHENE 

into  the  sunset's  jewelled  splendor.  Had  I  lived  in 
the  days  of  the  sun  worshippers  I  could  readily  have 
become  one  of  them. 

I  am  constantly  picking  up  etheric  vibrations,  and 
unless  saturated  with  the  toxins  of  fatigue,  have  a 
prescience  of  coming  events  or  the  dawning  of  new 
truths.  In  order  to  keep  at  least  one  foot  on  earth  in 
its  relation  to  my  work,  I  regard  it  simply  as  a  scien- 
tific imagination.  It  is  possessed  by  many  others  and 
life  would  be  despoiled  where  I  deprived  of  mine.  I 
never  lose  sight  of  scientific  facts  however. 

The  day  the  storm  whose  coming  had  been  told  me 
by  the  "carriers  of  the  air"  or  etheric  vibrations  to 
which  I  was  attuned,  without  any  knowledge  of 
weather  forecast,  any  nerve  or  muscle  pain,  I  was  up 
at  half  past  five  and  seated  at  my  writing  at  a  few 
minutes  after  six  o'clock.  There  had  been  days  of 
warmth,  melting  snow,  rain,  fog  and  storm.  I  had 
seen  no  forecast  of  a  change.  I  longed  for  it,  not 
alone  because  of  what  it  meant  to  me,  for  without 
radiance  I  am  crushed,  but  because  of  the  profound 
depression  of  a  friend  who  was  in  great  grief.  I 
felt  that  if  the  sun  would  only  shine  and  the  baro- 
metric pressure  change,  he  would  be  able  to  get  a 
grip  of  himself.  Radiance  is  essential  to  the  best 
physical  and  physiological  conditions,  not  to  speak  of 
life  itself. 

Before  beginning  my  work,  I  was  Impelled  to  write 

206 


AUTOBIOGRAPHY  OF  A  NEURASTHENE 

a  note  to  this  friend  who  had  many  years  since  passed 
through  a  similar  experience  to  mine  in  the  way  of 
exhausting  his  storage  batteries.  The  memory  and 
influence  of  the  dear,  gracious  lady  who  had  meant 
so  much  to  me,  influenced  me  always  to  step  aside.  If 
necessary,  to  brighten  the  way  for  others  when  I 
could.  This  friend  seemed  peculiarly  in  need  of  com- 
fort. I  wTote  that  I  was  having  a  "sunrise  jag" 
and  spoke  of  the  unutterable  beauty  of  the  sunrise.  I 
never  saw  a  more  beautiful  one,  not  with  vividness 
of  coloring,  but  intensity  giving  way  to  an  almost 
blackness  in  its  depth.  I  said  I  was  not  crazy  and  that 
I  would  come  dow^n  to  earth  a  little  later  on.  In  less 
than  an  hour  after  the  letter  was  written  it  was  posted 
and  on  its  way.  To  my  great  chagrin  the  sun  dis- 
appeared and  the  pall  of  gloom  and  fog  once  more 
settled  down  over  the  city.  I  felt  that  my  sunrise 
letter  would  not  be  appreciated,  but  I  reckoned  with- 
out that  subtle  etheric  force  and  the  transmission  of 
our  mutual  brain  waves  by  its  means. 

The  next  morning  I  had  a  letter  acknowledging  my 
"radiant  letter"  saying  that  at  the  same  time  he  was 
walking  "in  the  twilight  of  the  sunrise"  on  the  edge 
of  a  wood  overlooking  a  beautiful  river  and  drinking 
in  the  beauties  thereof  to  the  good  of  his  stricken  soul. 
He  was  psychic  to  a  degree,  although  very  practical 
withal.  I  in  turn  had  a  sufficient  development  of  the 
psychic  sense  to  receive  the  etheric  vibrations,  In  oth- 

207 


AUTOBIOGRAPHY  OF  A  NEURASTHENE 

er  words  our  mutual  transmitters  and  receivers  were 

In  good  order.     Could  we  only  listen  with  our  soul 

sense,  what  a  world  would  be  open  to  us.    But  we  can 

not,   because   we   clog  up  the   human   furnace   with 

overstoking  and  Interfere  with  the  clean-out  actions 

and  reaotlons  of  our  chemical  cells  not  only  by  too' 

much,  but  by  the  wrong  food  products,  by  our  petty 

cares,  worries,  and  anxieties,  too  often  by  dissipation 

and  lack  of  content.     Much  depends  upon  the  state 

of  mind  which  results  from  satisfaction  with  present 

conditions,  a  degree  of  satisfaction  which  holds  the 

mind   in   place,   excluding  complaint,   impatience  or 

further  desire. 

We  live  in  the  midst  of  eternal  and  never  ending 

vibrations,   and   our  myriads  of  chemical  cells  are 

ceaselessly  vibrating  to  the  end  that  nerve  energy  may 

be  stored,  transmitted  and  recorded.     This  sort  of 

psychic  communication  Is  only  possible  when  life  Is 

simple.     By  our  habits  of  life — bestial  if  you  will, 

although  the  beasts  are  of  better  conduct  than  men — 

neuronic  wires  are  down  and  the  higher  vibrations 

fail  to  reach  us.     We  grovel  upon  the  earth  and  are 

absolutely  oblivious  of  the  wealth  of  knowledge  lying 

about  us,  of  the  higher  realm  of  thought  to  which  we 

may  ascend,  which  means  an  atmosphere  after  all 

saturated  with  radiant  energy,  In  which  the  "psychom- 

eres  or  "soul  body"  of  the  physicist  Fournler  d'Albe 

reside.    To  me  it  seems  not  only  possible,  but  proba- 

208 


AUTOBIOGRAPHY  OF  A  NEURASTHENE 

ble,  that  this  theory  of  d'Albes  is  fundamentally  true 
and  if  so  that  these  soul  particles  are  opaque  to  ultra- 
violet light.  If  they  have  as  he  believes  consciousness 
and  power  of  locomotion  or  energy  it  is  probably  ob- 
tained from  the  ultra-violet  rays  of  the  sun.  Some 
day  they  may  be  made  visible  by  a  more  powerful 
optical  means,  than  we  now  possess.  This  I  know, 
that  the  higher  virtues  of  justice,  kindness  and  sym- 
pathy which,  according  to  d'Albe's  theory,  the  "soul 
body"  is  engaged  in  cultivating,  are  infinitely  more  in 
evidence  when  life  is  simple  and  absolutely  normal 
chemical  action  and  reaction  is  going  on  in  the  won- 
derful chemism  of  life.  That  this  may  be  true  in  the 
highest  and  most  complex  sense,  there  must  be  ex- 
perienced a  strange  content  and  happiness.  This  must 
envelop  and  environ  one  to  the  best  that  is  in  them. 

When  the  first  announcement  of  Roentgen's  dis- 
covery was  made  by  the  daily  press,  I  sent  the  clip- 
ping to  a  scientific  friend  with  the  question  "do  you 
believe  this  is  true?"  By  return  of  post  came  his 
reply:  "I  do  not  think  so,  but  it  may  be."  His  neg- 
ative opinion  did  not  influence  me,  for  although  pos- 
sessing much  less  knowledge,  I  had  the  prescience  to 
know  it  true.  Just  so  then  do  I  believe  it  possible 
that  more  powerful  optical  means  may  come  to  our 
aid  rendering  visible  d'Albe's  "psychomeres"  and  that 
future   generations   may  look  back  with   a   pitying 

209 


AUTOBIOGRAPHY  OF  A  NEURASTHENE 

smile  on  our  density  and  ignorance  of  actual  physical 
and  psychical  conditions. 

This  is  the  only  theory  in  regard  to  life  after 
death,  which  has  ever  appealed  to  me.  Its  ability  to 
appeal  depends  upon  its  physical  basis.  There  should 
be  nothing  sad  about  this  dying,  it  is  after  all  but  a 
part  of  living  and  no  thought  could  be  more  beauti- 
ful, more  satisfying  than  that  my  radiant  energy  will 
live  in  the  "psychomere"-saturated  atmosphere  above 
us,  basking  in  a  radiance  far  beyond  what  I  know 
this  beautiful  winter  morning,  as  the  just  risen  sun 
floods  my  room,  my  writing  and  my  person  with  de- 
light. 

To  follow  d'Albe  still  further  is  to  pass  into  a 
state  of  transcendent  radiance,  for  after  thirty  thou- 
sand years  of  this  existence  in  the  soul-saturated  at- 
mosphere, he  suggests  a  further  transformation  into 
a  state  of  existence  suited  to  the  environment  which 
is  tO'  be  found  in  interplanetary  space,  implying  as 
suggested  by  yet  another,  the  final  cosmic  union  of  all 
souls  and  ages.  No  amount  of  theorizing  will  settle 
this  question  which  has  excited  the  thought  and  inter- 
est of  all  peoples  and  all  times.  There  is  a  natural 
desire  for  immortality  inherent  in  all  of  us.  In  the 
natural  processes  through  which  our  bodies  pass 
when  they  are  no  longer  needed,  there  is  a  transform- 
ation of  energy  which  should  it  seems  to  me  yield  sat- 
isfying content  as  to  immortality.     However  nothing 

210 


AUTOBIOGRAPHY  OF  A  NEURASTHENE 

could  be  more  beautiful  than  to  be  a  part  of  radiance 
whether  sentient  or  not.  After  all  radiance  and  life 
are  one. 


I  know  a  man,  neither  doctor  nor  priest,  not  a  be- 
liever in  new  thought,  mental  healing.  Christian  Sci- 
ence nor  the  Emanuel  Church  movement,  a  man  of 
such  elemental  vigor,  with  an  appreciation  of  the 
need  of  mankind  bought  by  an  experience  of  life  so 
varied  and  deep  as  tO'  sound  in  the  telling  like  a  fairy 
tale,  which  has  left  him  as  simple  and  direct  as  a 
child,  whose  influence  for  good  among  those  whom 
he  daily  meets  in  the  routine  transaction  of  his  busi- 
ness is  tremendous.  He  hates  shams  and  veneer, 
his  ideals  of  life  are  the  noblest,  and  yet  he  has  come 
into  it  all  without  prestige  of  position  and  birth,  but 
out  of  an  experience  which  has  led  to  the  unrolling 
of  all  the  successive  pages  of  life,  to  the  end  of  know- 
ing by  heart  the  characters  with  which  they  are  writ. 
This  experience  has  served  to  develop  and  bring  out 
the  noblest  in  his  character,  has  given  him  the  widest 
possible  humanitarianism  and  made  him  very 
thoughtful  and  gentle  tO'  and  for  others.  His  psychic 
control  over  all  whom  he  meets  in  the  daily  walks  of 
life  is  constantly  being  used  to  their  good.  There  is 
no'  pose,  no  talk  of  suggestion,  of  New  Thought, 

211 


AUTOBIOGRAPHY  OF  A  NEURASTHENE 

mental  healing,  no  connection  with  any  of  the  cults, 
while  Christian  Science  he  regards  as  neither  Chris- 
tian nor  scientific.  But  there  is  simple,  happy,  con- 
tented living,  with  his  kindly  thought  and  actions 
reaching  out  to  everybody  with  whom  he  comes  In 
contact.  His  personal  magnetism,  when  he  chooses 
to  use  It,  is  very  great.  This  is  the  sort  of  a  personal- 
ity which,  when  acting  as  one  of  the  agents  of  these 
many  cults  and  fads,  gives  them  their  prestige.  But 
In  this  particular  Instance  there  is  back  of  it  all  a 
practical  working  knowledge  of  fundamental  medical 
science. 

There  is  no  question  of  the  value  of  this  power  of 
psychic  suggestion  In  the  cure  and  treatment  of  nerve 
and  mental  states,  but  unless  left  In  the  hands  of  the 
thoroughly  trained,  experienced  scientific  physician, 
it  is  an  agent  of  harm.  Just  as  medicine  Is  learning 
to  know  something  of  the  physical  conditions  under- 
lying nerve  and  mental  states,  why  it  is  that  nerves 
and  nerve  centres  become  irritable,  exhausted,  poison- 
ed, why  there  Is  deficient  mental  activity,  mental  de- 
pression, elation,  confusion,  insanity  even,  the  church 
steps  in  with  the  idea  of  using  a  similar  power  for 
the  healing  and  welfare  of  the  people.  It  is  a  step 
back  into  the  dark  ages,  when  priestly  control,  the 
casting  out  of  devils,  hypnosis  even  took  the  place  of 
scientific  medical  care. 

The  extreme  commercialism  of  everything  modern 

212 


AUTOBIOGRAPHY  OF  A  NEURASTHENE 

and  in  the  physician's  life  the  habit  of  continuous 
scientific  thought,  contact  with  morbid  conditions,  the 
constant  need  of  holding  themselves  aloof  on  a  plane 
different  from  that  of  the  average  mortal,  especially 
in  the  care  of  ner^'e  and  mental  cases,  narrows  the 
field  for  frank  and  innocent  expressions  of  emotion. 
This  prejudices  the  best  of  conditions  for  the  repres- 
sion of  emotions  and  natural  instincts  may  readily 
result   in   a   selfpoisoning  of  the   mind,   while   their 
legitimate  expression  can  not  but  favor  the  best  of 
psychic  elimination.     Disturbance  of  the  complex  and 
intimate  chemical  changes  equally  well  results  from 
such  a  condition  of  things  as  from  excess  in  eating, 
drinking  and  other  habits  of  life.     The  habit  of  in- 
trospection by  the  varied  mental  cults  is  unw"holesome 
in  the  same  way.     The  medical  mind  is  scientifically 
trained  and  will  withstand  this  sort  of  thing  better 
than  the  untrained  mind  of  the  laity^     Therefore,  the 
danger  is  greater  to  the  latter.     In  all  my  hard  and 
bitter  experience  I  have  recognized  this,  but  with  the 
conditions  of  my  life  it  could  not  be  helped.     I  have 
rarely  given  up  to  this  side  of  the  question,  but  have 
always  resolutely  set  myself  to  work  to  fill  up  the 
chinks  with  some  change  of  occupation,  even  though 
within  my  own  four  walls.  In  order  to  prevent  the  ex- 
treme of  unphyslological  conditions. 


213 


CHAPTER  SIXTEEN 

^'O  my  Dear  Father,  such  a  Change  in  Nature, 
^'So  great  an  Alteration  in  a  Prince! 
''He  is  Bereft  of  ail  the  Wealth  he  had; 
''The  Jewel  that  Adorned  his  Features  most 
"Is  filch' d  and  stolen  amay — his  Wits  bereft  him." 

Hamlet. 

MANY  times  my  physician  has  said  to 
me,  I  wish  you  were  more  of  a 
pachyderm,  while  others  who'  knew 
me  well  have  voiced  the  opinion  that 
I  should  be  wrapped  in  cottonwool 
and  carefully  put  out  of  reach  of  the  multitudinous 
and  distressing  impressions  of  the  exterior  world. 

It  would  have  been  a  great  comfort  oftentimes  in 
my  life,  and  still  would  be,  if  I  were  so  constituted 
that  I  could  shut  myself  away  from  the  untoward 
and  disturbing  happenings,  but  on  the  other  hand  it 
would  deprive  me  of  moments,  yes  hours,  of  the  keen- 
est pleasure.  I  enjoy  life  in  all  its  varied  complexity 
so  keenly  that  it  compensates  to  a  considerable  ex- 
tent for  the  many  hurts  it  gives.  I  have  always 
been  noted  for  my  courage  even  as  a  child.  The 
more  high-spirited  and  uncertain  of  conduct  a  horse, 

the  better  I  liked  to  ride  him  and  I  was  always  tempt- 

214 


AUTOBIOGRAPHY  OF  A  NEURASTHENE 

ing  Providence  to  the  uttermost  in  my  daring.     If  it 
was  the  ridgepole  of  the  barn,  that  was  the  height  of 
my  ambition,  the  ridgepole  of  the  barn  it  had  to  be, 
no  matter  how  difficult  the  task.     If  disaster  came  as 
a  result  of  my  daring,  I  learned  not  to  cry,  but  to 
pick  myself  up  and  dare  again   So  it  has  been  through 
life,  and  when  blow  after  blow  has  fallen  by  reason 
of  lack  of  strength  of  body  to  control  my  ambition,  I 
have  likened  myself  to  a  set  of  ninepins  which  had 
been  bowled  over.     Perhaps  a  sob,   a  long  breath, 
possibly  a  few  days  of  being  hors  dii  combat  and  I 
have  set  my  teeth  together  and  begun  again.     This 
quality  of  mine  has  enabled  me  to  keep  the  shuttle 
going,  w^eaving  back  and  forth  amidst  all  the  vicissi- 
tudes of  life  and  despite  its  hardships.     I  have  never 
slipped  out  of  the  traces,  nor  jumped  over  them,  but 
have   always   been   enabled   to   keep   steadfastly   on 
towards  the  goal  I  had  set  for  myself  when  a  child, 
and  that  to  live  to  such  purpose  as  would  tend  to  the 
sum  total  of  human  ^good  and  for  achievement.     But 
while  this  is  true,  I  have  endured  sufficient  vicarious 
suffering  to  have  atoned  for  the  sins  of  the  world. 
Just  now  I  am  having  a  surfeit  of  pain  and  anguish, 
because  a  medical  confrere,  simply  an  acquaintance, 
but  a  man  of  good  mental  qualities,  patient,  hard- 
working and  kindly,  has  in  the  midst  of  the  fullness 
of  professional  life,  suddenly  so  far  as  those  about 
him  realized,  developed  delusions  of  grandeur.     He 

215 


AUTOBIOGRAPHY  OF  A  NEURASTHENE 

had  always  been  poor,  had  worked  faithfully  and 
striven  hard  to-  better  his  condition,  but  at  the  same 
time  thinking  more  of  his  duty  and  work  in  a  pro- 
fessional relation,  than  of  personal  aggrandizement. 
But  when  the  balance  wheel  of  his  intelligence  finally 
slipped  its  cog,  his  spoken  and  written  thought  all 
turned  upon  the  untold  wealth  that  was  his,  enabling 
him  to  shower  comfort  and  pleasures  upon  those  he 
loved  and  giving  him  a  surcease  from  the  daily  grind. 
In  this  instance  but  not  necessarily  always  it  was  the 
form  of  his  delusions  that  named  his  insanity,  but 
despite  one's  knowledge  one  can  but  wonder  how 
much  his  constant  toil,  his  necessary  and  petty  econo- 
mies, cooking  for  himself  and  sleeping  in  his  office, 
while  keeping  up,  as  a  physician  must,  a  brave  front 
in  appearances,  had  to  doi  with  coloring  his  delusions. 
Poor  man,  hopelessly  insane  and  doomed  to  the  going 
out  of  his  life  in  absolute  darkness.  It  is  inexpressibly 
saddening,  and  there  seems  to  be  something  not  quite 
right  in  the  relation  of  the  conscientious  physician  to 
the  people,  when  faithful,  intelligent  and  conscien- 
tious work  should  be  so  ill  requited  that  years  of  toil 
leave  nothing.  In  his  insanity  he  is  happy  and  con- 
tent because  of  his  delusions  of  grandeur.  The  world 
is  at  his  feet  and  he  has  unlimited  powers,  whereas 
before  he  was  eternally  planning  and  scheming  how 
best  to  keep  up  the  appearance  demanded  of  a  phy- 
sician and  make  both  ends  meet.     But  those  of  us 

216 


AUTOBIOGRAPHY  OF  A  NEURASTHENE 

whose  view  point  Is  from  the  sane  side  of  the  border- 
land, have  aching  hearts  because  of  the  magnitude 
of  his  calamity — a  reason  dethroned.     What  a  nar- 
row line  that  borderland  line  Is  and  how  readily  It 
can  be  crossed;  for  the  crossing  is  very  narrow  and 
there  Is  no  depth  to  the  separating  current.     But  In- 
herent In  every  Individual  there  Is  despite  all  that  can 
be  said,  I  feel  and  think,  a  potential  one  way  or  the 
other  that  controls  under  adverse  winds  the  sanity  or 
insanity   of   the    individual.      This    is    a    recognized 
truth.     I  am  absolutely  aware  that  I  live  on  a  differ- 
ent plane  from  the  average  human  being ;  yet,  despite 
all  hfe's  stress  and  the  most  extreme  nerve  exhaustion 
from  which  one  can  suffer,  there  never  could  arise  In 
the  minds  of  others  a  question  as  to  my  perfect  mental 
balance.     I  am  conscious,  however,  that  had  I  a  dif- 
ferent potential,  I  might  have  worse  befall  me  than 
an  essential  neurasthenia.     Without  doubt  a  dietary 
limited  by  my  insufficient  digestive   capacity   and  a 
strenuous   life — strenuous  beyond  its  physical  back- 
ground— keeps  me  more  keenly  alive,  alert  and  in- 
tuitive,  than  though  my  myriads  of  chemical  cells 
were  struggling  to  reach  that  perfect  interchange  of 
courtesies  which  means   freedom  from  toxic  nerves 
and  brain.     One  dietary  indiscretion  makes  me  un- 
happy, one  mouthful  of  food  more  than  I  need  gives 
me  not  only  a  sense  of  repletion,  but  of  physiologic 

217 


AUTOBIOGRAPHY  OP  A  NEURASTHENE 

defilement.     It  may  be  food  of  the  simplest  character, 
but  the  result  is  the  same. 

While  this  is  true,  I  know  if  I  could  work  less 
hard,  have  the  luxury  of  being  cared  for,  change  my 
environment  more  often,  I  would  eat  more  and  have 
increased  digestive  capacity — perhaps  might  even  be- 
come bovine  in  my  atmosphere  of  placidity — I  will 
not  say  contentment,  for  contentment  I  have.  But 
I  would  lose  precious  moments  on  the  heights,  such  as 
this  midwinter  morning  for  example.  Awake  since 
half  past  four,  up  and  breakfasted  at  half  past  six 
o'clock  and  seated  at  my  work  before  seven.  The 
sun  has  just  climbed  to  sufficient  height  to  reach  my 
lofty  windows  and  penetrating  the  atmospheric  gloom 
of  fog  shines  in  upon  me  as  I  write,  illuminating  and 
irradiating  my  mind,  body  and  surroundings.  Un- 
happlness  is  not  possible  in  its  radiance  if  wholesome 
habits  of  living  form  the  background.  How  few 
people  among  city  dwellers  know  the  beauty  and  the 
precious  charm  of  the  early  morning.  The  night 
may  be  beautiful,  peaceful,  glorious  even,  but  noth- 
ing can  take  the  place  of  the  dawn's  awakening.  Be- 
fore the  first  streak  of  light,  in  that  darkest  hour  just 
before  day,  there  comes  to  me  a  sense  of  possibili- 
ties, of  abilty  to  do  and  a  feeling  that  the  world  is 
mine  with  all  its  wealth  of  knowledge  and  charm. 
The  rising  sun  does  not  dissipate  this,  but  by  the  time 

it  Is  two  or  more  hours  high,  I  become  conscious  that 

218 


AUTOBIOGRAPHY  OF  A  NEURASTHENE 

after  all  the  world  is  peopled,  that  It  does  not  belong 
to  me,  and  this  consciousness  Indicates  that  my  wire- 
less receiver  Is  In  good  workng  order  and  that  I  am 
picking  up  the  ceaseless  vibrations  of  the  external 
world.  Whether  these  be  for  pain  or  pleasure,  de- 
pends upon  my  physical  condition.  If  there  Is  no  Im- 
mediate problem  before  me,  If  the  electrical  and  ba- 
rometric conditions  are  favorable  to  physiological 
conditions,  beauty  is  everywhere,  duty  Is  a  pastime, 
and  joy  and  contentment  reign  supreme.  Greig  In 
his  "Morning"  has  musically  given  a  charming  con- 
ception of  the  joy  of  the  dawning  and  the  triumphal 
entry  of  the  sun  upon  the  scene  again. 

At  one  time  In  my  professional  life  before  these 
experiences  of  mine  I  had  staying  In  my  house  and 
under  my  guidance  and  care  a  young  girl  of  about 
sixteen,  whose  mother  had  been  under  my  care  pre- 
viously and  had  died  hopelessly  Insane.  The  father 
of  this  girl,  wise  beyond  his  opportunities  with  a  wis- 
dom that  comes  from  the  fullness  of  life,  rich  with 
all  its  varied  experiences,  realized  that  the  time  had 
come  to  try  and  save  his  daughter.  She  had  begun 
to  show  symptoms  of  mental  disturbance  and  her 
eldest  sister  was  Insane.  He  came  to  me  to  know  If 
I  could  take  his  daughter  Into  my  home,  watch  and 
guard  her  to  the  end  that  she  might  escape  her  moth- 
er's and  sister's  fate.     He  was  not  a  man  of  means, 

on  the  contrary  a  hard  working  man  at  laborious  and 

219 


AUTOBIOGRAPHY  OF  A  NEURASTHENE 

dirty  work  for  a  daily  wage.  Such  were  his  sterling 
qualities  of  mind  and  heart,  and  so  wise  and  farsee- 
ing  was  his  appeal,  that  I  told  him  yes  and  arranged 
the  business  relation  to  his  satisfaction.  She  re- 
mained with  me  a  year  to  the  end  of  overcomng  all 
evidences  of  mental  ill  health,  the  attainment  of  a 
perfect  physical  condition  and  the  overcoming  of  a 
snobbish  feeling  towards  her  father  because  of  the 
character  of  his  work.  In  order  to  see  her  he  was 
sometimes  obliged  to  stop  at  my  home  for  a  few 
hurried  moments  on  his  way  to  or  from  his  work  at 
his  luncheon  time  without  changing  his  working 
clothes.  Despite  his  working  clothes  and  coal  be- 
grimed hands — he  was  a  Welsh  miner — I  treated 
him  in  the  same  manner  as  the  best  groomed  among 
my  men  friends,  but  this  young  girl  could  not  for  a 
long  time  realize  what  it  all  meant,  and  simply  ex- 
perienced a  feeling  of  resentment  because  of  his  ap- 
pearance. He  could  not  see  her  otherwise,  all  else 
in  his  little  family  circle  had  gone  down  in  the  storm 
and  he  treasured  the  one  that  still  had  a  chance  be- 
yond words. 

The  reward  is  that  father's  in  which  I  am  honored 
to  share.  Only  a  few  years  since  he  wrote  telling  me 
of  her  perfect  health,  of  her  success  as  a  teacher  and 
of  his  great  gratitude  to  me.  While  these  things  do 
not  pay  the  rent,  nor  buy  the  bread  and  butter,  they 
are  of  value  beyond  words  or  figures. 

220 


AUTOBIOGRAPHY  OF  A  NEURASTHENE 

For  this  result  I  take  no  undue  unction  to  my  soul, 
but  recognize  that  while  she  had  an  unstable  nerve 
organization,  she  lacked  the  potential  of  insanity, 
despite  her  family  history. 

This  young  girl  is  intimately  associated  in  my  mind 
with  the  matter  of  food.  One  summer  morning  dur- 
ing my  office  hours,  I  suspect  I  had  risen  early,  as  I 
have  this  morning  of  my  writing,  I  felt  hungry  and 
knew  my  best  interests  would  be  conserved  by  some- 
thing in  the  way  of  food.  I  stepped  from  the  office 
to  the  butler's  pantry,  not  wishing  to  disturb  the 
routine  of  the  one  housekeeping  servant,  as  she  had 
extra  duties  that  day,  but  all  I  could  secure  that  I 
dared  eat  was  a  crust  of  bread,  exceedingly  dry  and 
very  hard.  That  did  not  trouble  me,  for  my  teeth 
were  good.  I  took  it  in  my  hand  and  passed  out  of 
the  house  to  the  verandah  overlooking  the  garden. 
As  I  appeared  contentedly  chewing  my  crust  of  bread, 
more  delicious  to  my  taste  under  the  circumstance  of 
my  genuine  hunger,  than  the  supreme  effort  of  the 
most  celebrated  chef  of  our  expensive  gilded  hostel- 
ries,  she  looked  at  me  with  a  pitying  smile,  saying: 
"Doctor,  are  you  as  hungry  as  that?"  To  her  my 
enjoyment  was  incomprehensible.  This,  however,  is 
true,  I  have  been  as  hungry  as  that  all  my  life — not 
for  physical  food,  but  for  knowledge,  for  joy,  happi- 
ness, for  all  the  things  that  go  to  make  up  life.  My 
enjoyment  of  the  sun's  radiance,  of  a  beautiful  land- 

221 
15 


AUTOBIOGRAPHY  OF  A  NEURASTHENE 

scape,  picture,  book,  music,  In  the  unravelling  to  me 
of  a  scientific  problem,  Is  beyond  words,  and  I  fancy 
one  reason  may  be  that  I  have  partaken  so  sparingly 
that  appetite  and  desire  know  no  dulling  and  zest  re- 
mains. 


222 


CHAPTER  SEVENTEEN 

*^The  Allegory  has  another  View  J' 

Bacon,  The  Physical  Fables. 

The  Point  of  View  or  ^^It  will  do  yoii  Good''. 

A  FEW  weeks  since  and  while  engaged 
upon  this  story  I  was  returning  from 
a  necessary  errand  in  a  down  town 
shop,  when  just  as  I  crossed  the  street, 
I  heard  a  voice  saying  "There  you  go 
with  your  head  in  the  air,  obHvious  of  everybody." 
A  detaining  hand  was  laid  upon  my  arm,  and  the 
voice  continued,  "You  must  stop  and  speak  to  me. 
Why  don't  you  quit  working  and  have  some  fun?"  It 
was  I  found  an  old  acquaintance  and  subsequent  pa- 
tient of  bright  cheery  helpful  presence.  All  I  needed 
to  do  was  to  shake  hands,  stand  still  and  smile,  for 
her  monologue  went  on.  "Why  don't  you  get  mar- 
ried? I  knew  the  man  you  ought  to  marry.  He  is 
a  doctor  and  is  more  interested  in  the  science  of  medi- 
cine than  anything  else."  I  continued  to  look  at  her 
smilingly.  It  was  not  necessary  to  talk.  She  under- 
stood by  means  of  my  smile,  uplifted  eyebrow  and 
gestures.  It  is  extremely  difficult  for  me  to  try  to  lis- 
ten, let  alone  talk,  in  the  noisy  streets.     However, 

223 


AUTOBIOGRAPHY  OF  A  NEURASTHENE 

just  here  if  ever  I  contemplated  marriage,  I  should 
not  select  a  member  of  my  own  profession. 
But     she     continued,     "I      want     you      to     come 

to     the      next      meeting      of      the      club 

on  Saturday  afternoon.  It  is  to  be  a  special  day  and 
the  meeting  will  be  held  in  the  ball  room  of  the 

.  "It  will  do  you  good."    I  thanked  her,  said 

I  did  not  believe  I  could  come,  as  I  had  much  to  do, 
but  she  insisted  and  put  into  the  urging  so  much  of 
her  cheering  magnetic  self,  that  I  finally  said  "Call 
me  up  next  Saturday  morning  during  office  hours, 
and  I  will  give  you  a  definite  answer."  "Why — will 
you  forget?"  "No,"  I  replied,  "I  will  not  forget, 
but  I  appreciate  your  desire  to  have  me,  and  if  I  can 
arrange  it,  your  call  will  serve  as  a  stimulus  to  a  lit- 
tle extra  effort." 

Saturday  morning  came  and  with  it  her  call.  I 
was  busy  in  the  office  and  the  weather  was  abomin- 
able, but  in  response  to  the  sympathetic  resonance  of 
her  voice  I  replied  that  I  would  come.  When  the 
work  was  finished,  luncheon  eaten,  1  rested  myself 
by  a  prolonged  plunge  of  face  and  hands  in  hot  wa- 
ter, then  quietly  made  my  toilette.  By  the  time  it 
was  finished  and  the  cab  at  the  door,  a  transforma- 
tion had  taken  place.  The  lines  of  fatigue  had  dis- 
appeared from  my  face,  and  although  as  always  pale, 
my  eyes  were  bright  and  for  the  beneft  of  the  lay 

reader  my  directoire  costume  was  stunningly  elegant 

224 


AUTOBIOGRAPHY  OF  A  NEURASTHENE 

and  very  becoming.  On  the  way  I  called  to  speak 
with  a  friend  who  said  he  did  not  need  to  be  told 
that  I  was  going  to  a  function,  I  looked  it.  This 
bit  of  approval  did  me  no  harm,  and  when  I  reached 
the  brilliantly  lighted  room,  crowded  with  women 
— some  men,  but  it  was  a  woman's  affair,  I  was  in 
extremely  good  form  and  full  of  pleasant  anticipa- 
tions. I  found  the  same  untoward  condition  of  ven- 
tilation and  vibration  as  characterizes  all  places  where 
human  kind  congregates,  however,  and  returned 
home  tired  and  depressed.  It  took  me  days,  yes 
weeks  to  get  over  that  extra  fatigue  and  led  to  my 
being  asked  by  an  intimate  and  very  sensible  friend 
"Don't  you  think  Doctor  you  had  better  leave  the 
stage  and  give  your  real  self  a  chance?"  To  his 
query  I  replied  that  I  had  not  done  these  things  for 
fifteen  years  past,  until  within  a  year  I  had  been  try- 
ing to  do  a  little — as  I  did  not  wish  to  be  stranded 
on  the  shores  of  time.  But  he  was  right.  It  is  not 
the  best  life  after  all,  this  life  of  pose  and  function 
which  has  supplanted  to  too  great  an  extent  the  life 
of  the  home  and  fireside.  The  husband  of  an  artist 
friend  complained  to  me  recently,  as  did  she  herself, 
that  there  never  was  time  even  for  a  little  family 
council. 

Again  one  evening  while  engaged  upon  this  writ- 
ing, an  old  acquaintance  of  what  would  have  been 

my  girlhood,  if  I  had  not  entered  the  medical  pro- 

225 


AUTOBIOGRAPHY  OF  A  NEURASTHENE 

fession  as  soon  as  I  could  by  reason  of  the  age  limit 
and  was  instead  a  hard  worked  doctor,  called  me  up 
to  know  might  he  call  and  bring  me  some  coffee  from 
his  coffee  plantation  up  in  the  mountains  of  Mexico. 
I  had  seen  him  but  twice  in  a  quarter  of  a  century, 
the  last  time  nearly  a  year  previously.     At  that  time 
he  told  me  of  his  artistic  comfortable  bungalow,  of 
the  native  servants  and  of  a  life  of  luxury  in  relation 
to  all  the  comforts  of  life,  but  of  absolute  solitude 
save  for  the  natives.    He  was  a  bachelor,  a  man  who 
in  his  early  life  had  not  had  the  advantage  of  educa- 
tion and  culture,  but  who  had  taken  them  all  on  in 
the  attrition  of  life  with  the  best  and  most  cultured 
people  of  a  college  town.     I  had  not  known  him 
well,  as  my  life  was  so  set  apart  from  that  of  the 
other  young  people,  yet  he  was  associated  with  some 
of  its  beautiful  memories,  was  one  of  the  satellites 
around  a  body  of  interesting  young  women,   chief 
among  them  a  young  woman  of  my  own  age  who  had 
stepped  aside  from  the  duties  and  pleasures  of  her 
life  at  the  suggestion  of  a  physician  brother  a  few 
years  older  than  myself,  with  whom  I  was  associated 
in  professional  work.     This  physician  and  I  were  the 
best  of  friends  and  he  saw  what  I  did  not  realize 
that  I  was  working  too  hard  and  steadily,  and  that 
I  needed  the  companionship  of  young  people.    I  bless 
his  memory  at  this  distance  for  the  kindly  thought 
for  he  has  finished  life's  problem,  earlier  than  he 

2^6 


AUTOBIOGRAPHY  OF  A  NEURASTHENE 

should.  To  know  his  sister,  a  beautiful  winsome  girl, 
possessed  of  all  the  attributes  that  invite  love  and 
confidence  and  of  a  joyousness  and  radiance  that  en- 
deared her  to  all  was  to  have  glimpsed  a  beautiful 
soul.  It  seems  but  yesterday  that  the  tidings  flashed 
over  the  wires,  which  plunged  the  village  in  mourn- 
ing,   "beautiful   Mary  is   drowned."      Her 

first  attention,  however,  after  her  brother  spoke  of 
me  was  to  call  upon  me  and  later  to  ask  me  for  the 
week  end  to  her  home.  In  order  that  I  might  see 
the  other  side  of  life,  the  choicest  of  her  young 
friends  were  invited  to  meet  me.  It  w^as  then  and 
there  that  I  met  the  gentleman  who  called  me  up  to 
know  might  he  call  to  bring  me  the  package  of  cof- 
fee from  his  Mexican  plantation  promised  ten  months 
before.  I  said  I  should  be  very  pleased  to  see  him. 
He  came  and  spent  the  evening  and  naturally  the 
conversation  turned  upon  the  olden  times,  the  old 
friends,  on  our  great  loss  and  grief  when  this  friend 
was  taken,  and  in  memory  the  anguish  at  a  distance 
of  many  many  years  was  relived.  Out  of  the  past 
came  trooping  the  shadow^y  forms  and  faces  of  the 
many  gone  beyond  while  recollections  of  the  living 
w^ere  revived.  Before  the  call  was  ended  he  listened 
with  great  delight  to  some  of  my  best  music.  It  was 
all  very  interesting  and  the  silvery  haired  gentleman 
with  the  young  face  said  as  he  left  "doctor  I  have 

had  a  beautiful  evening."    I  was  glad,  because  in  that 

227 


AUTOBIOGRAPHY  OF  A  NEURASTHENE 

evening  long  ago  he  had  contributed  not  a  little  to 
the  happiness  and  merriment  of  us  all,  lifting  me  for 
a  little  out  of  the  atmosphere  of  work  and  pain.  But 
I  knew  what  the  result  would  be  as  far  as  I  was  con- 
cerned and  that  despite  his  recent  recovery  from  a 
pneumonia,  the  fatigue  which  I  should  feel  on  the 
morrow  was  out  of  his  ken.  This  is  the  morning 
after.  I  am  limp  and  exhausted.  My  brain  is  weary 
with  the  kaleidoscopic  flitting  from  one  person  and 
place  to  another  in  being  told  of  all  the  old  friends. 
These  are  things  I  can  not  do  even  after  all  these 
years.  Had  there  been  more  than  one  guest  the  ill 
effects  would  be  greater.  In  his  recent  illness, 
he  told  the  friends  who  cared  for  him,  "if  I 
die  and  I  am  ready  to  go  if  that  is  what  it 
means,  have  no  fuss  nor  frills;  send  my  body  to  the 
crematory  to  be  cremated  and  my  ashes  back  to^  the 
old  home.  I  have  had  an  awfully  good  time  during 
my  life."  Many  was  the  good  time  he  gave  others 
and  it  would  be  fitting  to  inscribe  on  the  memorial 
urn — Alas;  Poor  Yorick!  Full  of  quips  and  jests 
but  with  a  very  great  delicacy  of  feeling  and  tender- 
ness toward  others.  So'  feelingly  did  he  speak  of  our 
mutual  friend  whose  life  was  cut  off  untimely  that  I 
wondered  if  after  all  despite  his  universality  of 
friendliness  to  his  women  friends  and  they  were 
legion,  she  was  not  the  one  who  living  would  have 

made  his  later  days  less  lonely.     This  period  of  my 

228 


AUTOBIOGRAPHY  OF  A  NEURASTHENE 

life,  the  first  of  my  twenties,  was  one  of  great  care, 
responsibility,  hard  work,  too  little  sleep  as  well  as 
too  little  food.  This  latter  because  the  former  con- 
ditions prejudiced  my  appetite  and  digestion.  It  has 
left  its  impress  and  contributed  to  what  I  ultimately 
suffered.  In  the  six  to  seven  years  that  followed  my 
doctor's  degree  I  had  made  myself  felt  in  my  work 
and  by  my  friends  so  forcibly  that  only  recently  it 
gave  me  great  pleasure  to  find  that  still  I  am  cher- 
ished in  appreciative  and  loving  remembrance  for  the 
one  and  by  the  other.  This  is  a  recompense  even 
though  I  am  not  possessed  of  the  best  of  nerve 
strength.  Compensation  is  the  law^  of  life.  Every- 
thing meets  with  either  reward  or  punishment  ac- 
cording to  its  nature.  Mine  is  both,  but  the  lack  of 
strength  has  never,  save  momentarily  in  my  bitterest 
agony  of  physical  pain  and  most  profound  depression 
out^^eighed  the  knowledge  of  having  met  the  needs 
of  those  to  w^hom  I  have  borne  the  relation  of  physi- 
cian, friend,  comforter  and  counsellor.  I  can  still 
feel  ever}^  atom  of  vitality  leaving  my  body  as  poor 
desperate  women  from  themselves  taken  away  have 
clung  to  me  begging  for  help  in  the  depths  of  their 
despair.  No,  this  is  not  right  for  the  average  person, 
but  I  can  only  question  whether  my  qualities  of  mind 
and  heart  would  have  been  better  filled  or  better  sat- 
isfied under  different  circumstances.     I  had  to  be  and 

do.     This  was  born  in  me  and  as  a  little  morsel  of 

229 


AUTOBIOGRAPHY  OF  A  NEURASTHENE 

humanity  I  used  to  press  my  hands  Into  my  eyes  that 
I  might  revel  in  the  beautiful  optical  phenomena  and 
wing  my  thought  away  to  the  time  when  I  should 
have  power  and  influence.  In  those  days  perhaps  I 
was  eight  years  of  age — my  ambition  was  a  seat  in 
the  counsels  of  the  nation,  not  the  lower,  but  the 
upper  house,  or  else  as  chief  executive  of  the  country. 
The  strenuous,  restless,  daring,  impulsive  and  often 
Injudicious  executive  who  has  just  left  the  executive 
chair,  has  never  known  a  greater  desire  for  achieve- 
ment than  have  I,  has  experienced  no  greater  ambi- 
tion. This  will  show  my  nature  and  tendency.  But 
neither  the  thought  of  power  nor  influence  weighed 
with  me  if  It  did  not  have  the  humanitarian  aspect. 

It  Is  the  same  whenever  I  overdo  and  In  whatever 
way,  and  the  oft  repeated  'Tt  Will  do'  you  Good"  of 
my  friends  Is  a  good  deal  like  flaunting  a  red  flag  by 
the  matador  In  front  of  the  infuriated  bull  of  the 
arena.  I  have  tried  so  often  and  this  Shy  lock  of  ex- 
hausted nerv^e  force  never  fails  to  exact  to  the  utmost 
his  pound  of  flesh.  It  may  be  a  medical  meeting,  a 
social  call,  any  demand  upon  my  limited  resources. 
Many  a  time  I  have  returned  from  a  medical  meeting 
where  I  have  been  an  interested  listener,  a  reader  of 
a  paper  or  a  contributor  to  the  discussion,  conscious 
of  but  one  desire  and  that  to  reach  the  quiet  and  se- 
clusion of  my  own   four  walls.     No  one  has  ever 

known  what  I  have  endured  in  the  effort  to  keep  up 

230 


AUTOBIOGRAPHY  OF  A  NEURASTHENE 

with  these  duties  save  my  physician,  and  he  by  no 
means  always  or  fully,  for  our  lives  were  too  busy 
with  our  respective  professional  duties  for  me  to 
burden  his  with  all  these  experiences,  unless  I  was 
pretty  well  down  and  out.  They  have  all  been  recov- 
ered from  in  the  course  of  time,  sometimes  many 
weeks,  even  months,  before  the  memory  of  some  sin- 
gle experience  would  disappear  and  leave  me  with  a 
feeling  that,  after  all,  I  had  not  failed  in  my  effort 
and  had  just  as  good  a  right  to  be  happy  and  satisfied 
as  any  one  else.  The  tears  used  to  come,  but  with  an 
Increased  degree  of  neuronic  energy  self-control  Is 
better,  and  now  It  Is  only  a  long  sobbing  breath,  a 
setting  of  my  teeth  In  grim  determination  and  a  reso- 
lute taking  hold  of  something  In  the  way  of  scientific 
interest  or  helpful  diversion,  until  I  can  put  the  feel- 
ing of  having  failed  entirely  aw^ay  from  me.  Too 
long  hours  at  any  of  these  functions  tells  heavily  upon 
me.  I  have  therefore  had  to  hold  and  Increase  my 
work  from  the  quiet  of  my  professional  rooms  and 
with  the  vigor  of  my  pen. 


231 


CHAPTER  EIGHTEEN 

'^Human  Experience  like  the  Stern  Lights 

Of  a  Ship  at  Sea,  Illumines  only 

The  Path  which  we  have  Passed  Over!^ 

Coleridge. 

SOME  day  there  may  be  a  different  name  for 
the  condition  known  as  neurasthenia,  one 
that  will  carry  with  it  less  of  opprobrium 
and  prejudice  than  now.  It  can  not,  how- 
ever, continue  to  be  recognized  as  a  condi- 
tion without  a  pathology.  It  is  true  the  microscope 
has  not  yet  discovered  and  may  not  until  more  power- 
ful means  are  available,  the  toxin  of  fatigue.  The 
disturbance  of  physiological  processes — a  pathologi- 
cal physiology — is  always  in  evidence.  In  both  the 
cases  referred  to  in  this  connection  there  was  a  chronic 
fatigue  of  mind  and  body,  a  complete  going  stale  in 
the  language  of  athletes,  physically,  mentally  and 
spiritually  if  you  w'ill,  for  they  are  mutually  de- 
pendent and  interdependent  conditions.  The  toxin 
of  fatigue  exists  as  truly  as  does  the  toxin  of  fermen- 
tative indigestion,  and  while  the  discovery  of  the 
latter  and  its  relation  to  dietary  measures  is  a  tre- 
mendous stride  in  medical  progress,  showing  how  by 

232 


AUTOBIOGRAPHY  OF  A  NEURASTHENE 

reason  of  its  presence  the  use  of  certain  foodstuffs 
interferes  with  all  the  physio-chemical  actions  related 
to  normal  life  and  function,  causing  the  production 
of  certain  bodies  with  learned  names  which  are  ac- 
companied by  certain  and  many  of  the  symptoms  of 
the  neurasthene  and  by  poisoning  the  nerves  and  brain 
through  the  toxin-laden  blood,  it  does  not  tell  the 
whole  story.  Let  the  same  individual  have  the  op- 
portunity for  an  ideal  vacation,  no  stress  nor  strain 
as  to  the  financial  end,  absolutely  care  free,  provided 
with  every  comfort  of  luxury,  which  is  a  different 
thing  from  every  luxury;  congenial  friends  and  sur- 
roundings, out  of  doors,  preferably  on  a  houseboat  in 
southern  or  northern  waters  according  to  the  season 
of  the  year,  or  a  private  yacht,  and  everything  and 
anything  can  be  eaten  without  the  end  products  of 
the  physio-chemical  laboratory  evidencing  wrong  ac- 
tion and  reactions.  Exercise  is  not  only  not  essential, 
but  in  these  cases  of  chronic  neurasthenic  fatigue  is 
to  be  avoided.  In  the  quiet  drifting  of  life  along 
pleasant  ways  with  financial  and  business  strain  re- 
moved, there  is  to  be  obtained  a  readjustment  of  all 
physiological  processes.  It  goes  on  so  quietly  that 
no  note  is  taken  of  it,  until  suddenly  the  patient  finds 
himself  so  well  that  he  could  not  stand  it,  if  he  felt 
better.  But  If  this  care-free  golden  holiday  is  not 
long  enough,  there  will  soon  be  a  reversion  to  former 
untoward  conditions. 

233 


AUTOBIOGRAPHY  OF  A  NEURASTHENE 

In  all  these  weary  years — not  idle  ones  nor  useless 
ones,  nor  yet  years  deprived  of  many  of  the  joys  of 
life — I  think  could  I  have  only  realized  the  sheer 
joy  in  living,  the  intensity  of  my  delight  in  having 
once  more  physical  strength  and  mental  vigor,  I 
would  have  made  greater  effort  to  have  overcome  the 
neurasthenic  state  even  at  great  personal  sacrifice.  I 
do  not  feel  that  I  have  words  at  command  to  give  an 
adequate  pen  picture  of  the  profound  change  in 
thought  and  feeling  which  finally  came  to  me  after 
ten  years  of  such  profound  nerve  exhaustion  and 
weariness  as  is  given  to  comparatively  few  to  know. 
With  what  zest  and  abandon  I  renewed  my  interest 
in  life,  in  the  joy  of  living,  the  purely  physical  pleas- 
ure of  knowing  that  the  sun  shone,  that  the  mornings 
were  radiant  with  its  glory  and  the  evenings  jewelled 
with  its  splendor  of  afterglow.  To  be  able  to  eat  and 
have  the  feeling  that  one  has  really  dined,  not  simply 
fed  to  support  life,  to  walk  with  free  and  buoyant 
tread  instead  of  listlessly  dragging  one's  feet  along 
in  utter  weariness  of  the  flesh  and  spirit,  but  over  and 
above  all,  to  be  conscious  of  mental  vigor  again,  so 
keen  and  dominant  as  to  give  a  sense  of  unlimited 
power,  this  was  living.  When  I  had  finally  realized 
all  this  after  ten  years  of  almost  continual  suffering, 
mental  and  physical,  days  of  pain  and  wearying 
nights  of  pain  and  sleeplessness,  a  perpetual  never 
ending  struggle  to  get  well  and  keep  well,  to  follow 

234 


AUTOBIOGRAPHY  OF  A  NEURASTHENE 

the  daily  routine  and  to  help  in  developing  and  build- 
ing up  the  work  in  which  I  was  interested  then  do  I 
feel  that  my  charming  mediciis  upon  whom  I  relied 
Implicitly  and  to  whom  I  owe  that  which  I  can  never 
pay,  should  have  lifted  me  bodily  from  my  habitat 
and  sent  me  oii  to  the  quiet  of  the  country',  where  I 
could  have  soaked  in  energy  at  every  pore.  Yet,  as 
I  say  this,  I  know  how  inadequate  it  would  have  been 
had  I  gone  simply  for  the  sake  of  quiet,  fresh  air  and 
sunshine,  for  to  one  with  the  restless,  active  brain 
which  I  possessed,  mental  work  and  mental  stimulus 
was  an  absolute  necessit}^,  and  so  it  Is  to  every  one. 
The  intelligence  that  feeds  upon  itself  is  lost  and  the 
brain  of  such  a  person  sufiers  from  a  condition  of 
mental  autointoxication.  In  addition  the  relation  of 
my  life  to  my  work  had  to  provide  the  necessary 
means  or  wherewith  always.  Therefore,  my  dear 
doctor,  there  remains  no  cause  of  complaint,  for  after 
all  a  different  course  might  have  turned  out  less  well 
for  me.  But  I  do  look  back  with  profound  regret  on 
those  years  of  my  life,  despite  the  work  done  in  my 
chosen  calling,  despite  the  Influence  of  that  work  and 
despite  In  addition  to  my  many  contributions  to  medi- 
cal science,  there  stands  at  least  one  volume  of  which 
it  had  been  predicted  that  It  will  always  live.  But 
the  joy  in  things  mental,  physical  and  perhaps  spirit- 
ual did  not  come  until  there  came  an  opportunity  for 
three  w^hole  months  in  the  hills  where  I  quaffed  great 

2Z5 


AUTOBIOGRAPHY  OF  A  NEURASTHENE 

breaths  of  life-giving  air  and  rested  content  in  the 
utter  quiet,  while  an  absolutely  new  and  engrossing 
interest  of  a  scientific  nature  aroused  and  stimulated 
neuronic  energy. 

This  better  condition  did  not  continue  under  the 
influence  of  constant  hard  work  and  continued  isola- 
tion from  those  things  which  make  life  beautiful. 
Had  it  not  been  for  the  work,  I  could  have  invited 
my  soul,  but  the  work  had  to  be  done. 

These  last  lines  are  being  penned  three  and  one- 
half  years  later.  My  fatigue  is  greater  and  the  de- 
pression which  grips  me  almost — yes !  quite  unendur- 
able. The  work  of  the  year  has  not  been  so  hard, 
but  the  strain  in  one  sense  has  been  greater  and  this 
largely  because  of  illness  and  change  in  my  distant 
family.  The  spring  has  dawned,  things  are  at  least 
for  the  time  better  and  I  am  not  only  hoping  but  I 
will  rise  superior  to  the  incubus  of  exhausted  nerves 
before  the  summer's  heat.  I  must,  for  there  is  no 
other  course.  This  is  true  that  I  possess  increased 
abihty  to  rebound  and  all  life's  impulses  are  forward, 
anticipation  rather  than  retrospection  horizons  me  as 
it  has  done  all  my  life. 

There  is  apt  to  be  experienced  by  the  neurasthene, 
no  matter  how  well  they  have  met  life's  duties  nor 
how  much  of  the  world's  work  they  have  done  a  feel- 
ing of  having  ignominously  failed.  This  is  a  pretty 

constant  mental    attitude  with    me   and    much    of 

236 


AUTOBIOGRAPHY  OF  A  NEURASTHENE 

the  time  I  feel  and  have  felt  even  when 
accomplishing  most  the  veriest  failure  in  the 
world  and  it  seems  to  me  that  every  one  meets 
their  duty  to  life  better  than  I.  This  is  not 
said  of  me,  but  I  feel  it  myself.  There  are  so 
many  things  I  should  do  to  fulfill  my  highest  obliga- 
tion not  only  to  my  professional  life  but  to  life  itself, 
but  alas  there  is  not  enough  of  me,  therefore  I  must 
do  that  which  takes  the  least  out  of  me.  I  do  not 
know  the  accepted  explanation  of  much  of  what 
seems  my  failure  to  do.  In  most  instances  I  take  the 
initiative,  but  that  done  I  am  "all  in"  and  subsequent 
work  must  be  carried  on  by  others.  I  never  express 
my  regret  openly,  never  say  why  I  do  not  do  more, 
am  very  apt  to  convey  the  idea  that  the  demands 
upon  my  time  render  it  impossible  or  else  assume  as 
does  a  medical  man  of  my  acquaintance  who  is  a 
neurasthene,  born  with  a  potentiality  which  has  been 
accentuated  by  a  hard  strenuous  life,  an  attitude  of 
absolute  indifference.  This  he  does  in  regard  to 
things  in  which  he  has  a  vital  and  intelligent  interest, 
but  no  one  knows  that  such  is  the  case,  as  exteriorly 
he  is  calm,  quiet,  self-poised,  although  within  experi- 
encing profound  regret  at  his  inability  to  compete 
along  all  lines  with  his  confreres,  knowing  at  the 
same  time  that  mentally  he  is  their  equal  if  not  their 
peer.  But  there  is  only  so  much  nerve  energy  and 
professional  work  must  be  done,  money  must  be  pro- 

237 

16 


AUTOBIOGRAPHY  OF  A  NEURASTHENE 

vided  and  all  the  varied  duties  of  life,  professional, 
social  and  family  met.  His  ideals  are  too  high  to 
neglect  these.  Unless  there  comes  a  time  soon,  he 
will  never  be  able  to  realize  his  fondest  ambitions. 
Because  I  feel  so  often  that  I  have  failed  and  be- 
cause of  my  extreme  sensitiveness,  I  can  only  think 
that  I  am  regarded  by  others  as  by  myself  a  failure, 
but  the  world  says  no.  Therefore  I  stay  quietly  at 
home,  when  possibly  I  could  stand  a  little  more^ — I 
question  this  however,  because  it  hurts  so  cruelly  to 
feel  that  I  have  not  done  all  I  should.  My  tentacles 
so  to  speak  are  out  all  the  time  to  ward  off  vibrations 
that  give  me  pain  or  cause  exhaustion.  I  almost  never 
know  what  it  is  to  feel  differently.  As  I  write,  there 
are  back  of  me,  respectively  within,  twenty-four  hours 
and  a  week,  two  instances  occasions  I  had  anticipated 
with  pleasure  and  profit  and  in  which  I  was  to  take 
an  active  part,  but  there  was  nothing  to  do  but  to  send 
a  telegram  at  the  last  moment  in  the  first  Instance 
and  a  letter  In  the  second,  giving  no  reason  for  my 
failure  to  appear  and  take  my  part,  simply  stating, 
that  It  was  an  Impoissibility.  I  know  full  well  that 
my  motives  are  often  misconstrued,  but  I  cannot  help 
it.  I  manage  from  first  to  last  to  be  in  evidence  suf- 
ficiently to  hold  my  position  as  a  player  on  the  stage 
of  professional  life,  but  I  can  not  always  advantage 
myself  of  psychological  entrances  and  exits  as  to  hold 

the  centre  as  I  should.    We  are  all  puppets,  all  tread- 

238 


AUTOBIOGRAPHY  OF  A  NEURASTHENE 

ing  the  board  and  playing  the  game  with  an  eye  to  the 
main  chance  according  to  our  point  of  view. 

Among  life's  compensations  are  the  beautiful 
friendships  which  have  been  mine  during  these  more 
or  less  shut  in  years  and  still  are,  for  the  most  part 
with  brainy  men  and  occasionally  a  kindred  spirit  in 
a  woman.  This  latter  did  not  happen  so  often.  I  fancy 
the  reason  lay  in  the  fact  that  I  had  to  be  responsible 
professionally  for  the  average  woman  whom  I  came 
to  know.  I  was  so  much  more  self-reliant  and  de- 
pendable, had  to  be,  than  other  women,  even  those  of 
the  best  mental  poise.  They  laid  down  their  arms 
when  they  came  to  me,  and  I  came  to  know  every 
vulnerable  point.  With  men  it  was  different.  I  was 
not  their  father  confessor  in  these  ways,  at  least  not 
for  those  whom  I  met  in  a  social  chat  about  my  fire- 
side. While  the  friendships  which  exist  between  man 
and  man  is  beautiful  and  soul  satisfying,  the  friend- 
ship between  man  and  woman  of  congenial  mental 
and  spiritual  traits  not  only  equals  but  exceeds  it,  for 
after  all  whether  it  be  mentally,  spiritually  or  physi- 
cally, the  one  complements  the  other.  Such  is  the 
scheme  of  nature.  It  is  true  that  I  have  been  alone, 
shut  out  from  the  active  whirl  of  the  world,  although 
actively  in  evidence  professionally,  but  these  fireside 
friends  have  talked  of  all  the  many  and  varied  world 
interests,  of  science,  art,  literature,  the  drama,  of  the 
world's  work,  of  friendship,  of  marriage,  of  music, 

239 


AUTOBIOGRAPHY  OF  A  NEURASTHENE 

of  religion  and  the  possibility  of  a  hereafter  even, 
other  than  that  which  comes  from  the  characteristic 
transformation  of  energy. 

One  of  the  best  of  these  friendships  has  been  with 
my  physician  and  while  our  busy  work-a-day  lives 
have  prevented  but  little  more  than  the  professional 
call,  I  have  understood  always  that  there  was  mutual 
confidence  and  sympathy.  Men  have  always  accorded 
me  my  place  in  the  profession.  I  have  not  had  to 
ask  for  recognition  even.  This  man  has  been  most 
beautifully  frank  and  generous,  not  hesitating  either 
to  me  or  of  me,  to  express  his  approval  and  satisfac- 
tion, in  what  he  kindly  believed  to  be  my  mental  abil- 
ity and  professional  attainments. 

My  inability  to  get  well  and  strong  has  been  due 
to  the  need  for  constant  devotion  to  my  work.  In  it 
I  have  had  great  happiness  and  content  despite  the 
vicarious  suffering,  the  Sinais  and  Gethsemanes.  That 
they  have  been  in  evidence  a  considerable  part  of  the 
time  goes  without  saying,  but  it  has  taken  so  little  to 
lift  me  above  and  beyond  them.  Sometimes  that  little 
has  been  a  radiant  day  after  days  of  gloom,  a  letter 
from  some  far  away  friend,  a  lessened  disurbance  of 
cerebral  circulation,  a  new  scientific  interest,  the 
steady  improvement  in  the  condition  of  patients,  a 
quiet  hour  with  some  one  of  the  choice  spirits  who 
call  me  kin,  a  chance  for  a  little  rest  with  change  of 
scene  and  environment,  a  new  record  of  music  or  a 

240 


AUTOBIOGRAPHY  OF  A  NEURASTHENE 

new  book,  sometimes  one  thing  and  sometimes  an- 
other has  lifted  me  out  of  a  condition  where  all 
things  seemed  stale,  flat  and  unprofitable,  and  the 
game  not  worth  the  candle.  Just  now  this  last 
twenty-four  hours  an  "Easter  bonnet"  has  served  to 
lift  my  feminine  soul  into  a  greater  degree  of  com- 
fort, and  after  all  is  said  and  done,  that  feminine 
soul,  despite  the  brain  which  men  are  pleased  to  call 
masculine,  dominates  the  best  of  me  and  my  life,  al- 
though clothes  are  by  no  means  its  final  nor  finest  ex- 
pression. 

This  story  which  I  have  chosen  to  have  recorded 
out  of  a  multitude  of  experience  w^ith  nerve  and  men- 
tal conditions  is  after  all  the  autobiography  of  an 
essential  neurasthene.  An  essential  neurasthene  yes ! 
in  Its  broadest  and  deepest  sense,  but  more  than  that 
by  reason  of  a  sunstroke,  of  many  accidents  induced 
by  utter  lack  of  muscle  tone  and  contant  fatigue  of 
body,  the  fullness  of  which  has  not  been  told  and  in 
no  ways  more  than  by  the  almost  complete  exhaustion 
of  a  sound  center  and  practical  loss  of  function  of  an 
auditory  nerve.  The  profound  anaemia  which  charac- 
terized my  condition  for  years,  is  not  essentially  a 
neurasthenic  symptom  and  unquestionably  prejudiced 
my  case.  Others  may  suffer  a  similar  injur)^ 
to  an  auditor}^  ner^^e  and  I  would  that  they 
might    be    spared,     not     the     condition,     nor     yet 

the    result,    for    that    w^ould    be     impossible    were 

241 


AUTOBIOGRAPHY  OF  A  NEURASTHENE 

they  obligated  to  life's  duties  In  similar  environment 
to  mine,  but  the  sense  of  injustice  under  which  I 
smarted  for  years,  because  the  condition  Is  not  recog- 
nized by  nerve  or  aural  medicine  as  occurring  In  neu- 
rasthenia and  nothing  was  looked  for  but  a  circula- 
tory hyperesthesia  and  auditory  fatigue.  These  I 
had,  of  course,  but  they  presaged  the  greater,  deeper 
and  permanent  injury. 

To-day  I  should  regard  myself  as  really  well,  but 
I  still  work  and  while  work  never  harms  and  life 
without  it  would  lose  all  its  charm,  overwork  with 
anxiety  does  and  these  I  still  have.  They  are  a  part 
of  living.  But  every  effort  of  my  conscious  life  is  to 
their  lessening  and  avoidance.  I  have  been  hurt  so 
often  and  constantly  by  all  this  pain  and  disability, 
that  now  I  am  no  longer  content  to  endure.  My 
spirit  must  be  released  from  this  prison  of  chronic 
fatigue,  before  life  ends. 

Within  myself  there  are  great  possibilities  for  not 
only  my  own  content  and  happiness,  my  own  pleasur- 
ing whether  Intellectually  or  In  simple  being,  but  for 
the  better  being  and  pleasuring  of  others.  After  all, 
that  brings  to  me  the  truest  happiness. 

Neuronic  energy  will  always  have  to  be  conserved 

as  long  as  I  live  to  the  best  good  of  myself  and  others. 

While   I   may  once   In   a  while  permit   a   condition 

which  gives  me  the  keenest  pleasure,  where  there  Is 

no  consciousness  of  body  In  so  far  as  any  sensation  in 

242 


AUTOBIOGRAPHY  OF  A  NEURASTHENE 

It  of  discomfort  is  concerned — not  lost  as  under  the 
shock  of  my  mother's  death  when  I  was  down  and 
out,  but  just  a  feeling  of  aerial  buoyancy,  I  recognize 
fully  that  it  is  not  one  to  be  dallied  with.  This  hap- 
pened recently  under  the  pressure  of  extra  strain  and 
careful  abstemious  eating,  in  order  to  avoid  over- 
stocking of  tired  chemical  cells,  and  led  to  my  laugh- 
ingly telling  my  physician  that  I  felt  like  a  soul  poised 
aloft  on  a  needle's  point  ready  tO'  dance  off  into  space. 
Experience  told  me  I  needed  more  food  of  which  I 
partook  under  the  most  favorable  circumstances  I 
could  command.  I  did  not  over  eat,  on  the  contrary 
— the  repast  would  not  have  been  regarded  as  moder- 
ate by  the  most  abstemious,  but  It  was  sufficient  to 
disturb  the  clean  cut  chemical  actions  and  reactions, 
In  other  words  the  furnace  was  overstoked  for  Its 
condition,  and  as  a  result  my  leucocytes  became  all 
"balled  up".  Another  time  I  shall  proceed  with 
greater  circumspection  when  my  soul  body  becomes 
the  paramount  factor  In  life  and  shall  endeavor  to 
restore  the  perfect  balance  of  my  physical.  Intellectual 
and  spiritual  being  by  means  of  my  favorite  food, 
milk  au  naturel  or  fermented.  This  Is  my  custom, 
but  In  this  Instance  the  sense  of  tremor  all  through 
my  brain  which  always  sends  out  the  signal  **C.  Q. 
D."  was  so  marked  and  my  need  of  a  reinforcement 
of  neuronic  energy  so  great  In  connection  with  my 
work  that  I  Indulged  In  a  chop  and  potato.    Under 

243 


AUTOBIOGRAPHY  OF  A  NEURASTHENE 

good  conditions  it  would  have  been  all  right,  but  not 
under  the  conditions  present.  It  is  difficult  to  learn 
all  these  lessons  even  in  an  abundant  experience,  and 
this  is  why  so  many  cases  of  more  or  less  chronic 
nerve  exhaustion  fare  so  badly,  unless  the  physician 
in  charge  is  equal  to  the  careful  direction  of  food  and 
rest.    Even  so  it  is  by  no-  means  an  easy  matter. 

While  in  the  history  of  every  essential  neurasthene 
there  is  a  time  when  frequent  regular  feeding  of 
easily  digested  nourishment  Is  essential,  yet,  in  com- 
mon with  the  rest  of  mankind  there  is  a  tendency  to 
overfeed.  More  people  eat  too  much  than  too  little, 
and  the  Individual  whose  nerve  energy  is  not  great 
and  in  whom  it  has  been  overtaxed  is  happiest  and 
best  off  to  take  nourishment  in  small  but  more  fre- 
quent quantities  under  conditions  of  great  stress.  Per- 
sonally It  Is  difficult  for  me  to  enlarge  my  dietary 
repertoire,  even  in  this  way.  Here,  as  in  all  medical 
work,  for  that  matter  throughout  many  of  the  rela- 
tions of  life,  Individual  tendencies  and  characteristics 
must  be  considered. 

It  is  Interesting  in  this  connection  to  note  that  at 

the  time  he  was  engaged  In  his  work  upon  the  models 

of  that  well  known  and  wondrously  beautiful  chalice 

for  Pope  Clement,   Benvuenetoi  Cellini   for  reasons 

connected  with   his  physical  well  being  was   living 

most  abstemiously.     He  records  in  his  autobiography 

that  he  produced  finer  things  and  of  more  exquisite 

244 


AUTOBIOGRAPHY  OF  A  NEURASTHENE 

inv^ention  during  this  time  of  abstemious  eating  than 
at  any  other  time  in  his  life. 

When  all  is  said  and  done,  I  shall  fail  of  my  high- 
est duty,  if  I  do  not  leave  the  impression  of  an  ener- 
getic, active,  interested  physician,  an  alert  mentality, 
with  a  never  failing  delight  in  intellectual  pleasures, 
a  joy  amounting  to  an  abandon  in  radiant  days,  beau- 
tiful scenes  and  music,  and  an  interest  in  life  in  all  its 
complexity  of  relation,  most  keen  and  dominant.  No 
harm  has  befallen  my  neuronic  energy  in  penning  this 
record — on  the  contrary,  the  quiet  retrospective  view 
of  the  entire  picture  has  taught  its  lesson. 

"Human  experience,  like  the  stern  lights  of  a  ship 
at  sea  illumines  only  the  path  which  we  have  passed 
over. 

This  was  true  in  Coleridge's  time,  but  it  is  not  true 
co-day,  for  there  are  the  magnificent  search  lights  of 
tremendous  amperage  which  modern  science  and  com- 
mercialism have  provided  and  by  means  of  which  the 
path  of  the  trackless  deep  still  unsailed  can  be  clearly 
seen. 

This  story  has  been  told  for  two'  reasons,  one  as 
has  been  said  as  a  means  of  mental  divertisement,  for 
in  the  telling  of  it,  while  I  have  not  lessened  my  dis- 
abilities, I  have  put  them  more  firmly  and  surely  be- 
hind me,  the  other  in  the  belief,  that  it  may  illumine 
the  untrodden  path  ahead  as  well  as  the  one  which 
has  been  passed  over,  that  others,  whether  of  the  pro- 

245 


AUTOBIOGRAPHY  OF  A  NEURASTHENE 

fesslon  or  not,  may  at  least  be  spared  the  Injustice 
which  I  have  sometimes  felt  I  have  suffered.  It  Is 
not  told  with  any  thought  of  Inviting  pity  and  sym- 
pathy or  with  a  desire  to  perpetuate  the  condition. 
Far  from  It.  Every  opportunity  of  which  I  dare 
avail  myself  finds  me  enjoying  life  with  an  abandon 
of  which  few  are  capable  even  though  many  years  my 
junior.  This  Is  because  my  appetites  are  not  jaded, 
whether  It  be  for  food,  radiance,  for  beautiful  sights, 
and  sounds,  for  friends,  or  for  scientific  and  intellec- 
tual pleasures.  The  one  exception  Is  my  professional 
work,  at  which  I  have  so  Incessantly  labored.  Even 
this  exception  only  exists  at  times.  At  others  I  put 
myself  Into  It  with  all  my  old  time  zest  and  Interest. 


246 


DATE  DUE 


M9    1995 


m  i  i  1995 


^m 


lum. 


2  3  1995J 


DEC  ;>  ^  199, 


Ji 


T99ir 


499^ 


jAN^nifr 


Printed 
In  USA 


^C/^\S 


05^ 


cv, 


■'>si' 


mm  PROPERTY 


'ijy\^ 


SOUTH 


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